


Excuse Me Forgetting

by BadBadBucky



Category: The Mighty Boosh
Genre: Amnesia, Asexual Character, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBadBucky/pseuds/BadBadBucky
Summary: Vince accidentally drinks a potion that makes him forget everything, including himself and Howard. Howard has to help him piece himself back together.***Howard awoke to Vince screaming.His eyes flew open like the shades on a house. He was already half across the room before he even knew he was awake.“Vince? Vince? What is it?”Vince huddled in the corner where his bed was pushed against the wall. He looked confused and terrified. He hugged his legs to his chest. His eyes kept darting between Howard and the door. His large eyes grew even larger as Howard got closer and his window for escape closed.“Vince! What’s the matter?”“Who’re you? Where am I?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had an absolute blast writing this. I'll be putting out one chapter a week. Apologies for typos and any jumps I make from past to present tense, I tried to catch them all but probably failed miserably. Hope you like it!

**Chapter 1**

Vince was too drunk too early again. Stumbling home sloppy drunk when most of the other trendies had barely left the house yet. He and Howard had had a huge row and Vince had left in a huff. With champagne bubbles clouding his head he couldn’t even remember what the fight was about. Probably Howard said something snidey about his outfit. Or he said something snidey about Howard’s hair, or eyes, or general demeanor and Howard-ness. Alright, maybe he only wished he didn’t remember what the fight had been about. Because it had been his fault. He just couldn’t seem to resist picking at Howard. Jabbing at his sore spots. 

He would never ever say this to Howard, as it truly would be too hurtful, but he missed the Howard from the zoo. Decisive. To an extent. Confident. To an extent. Everything was to an extent with Howard. Except for protectiveness. No qualifiers on that. He had protected Vince many a time at the zoo, it was when he was at his best. He was always bravest when he was protecting Vince. Protectiveness was how Howard showed his love. 

Not so much anymore. Or at least there was a general lack of enthusiasm when he stood in front of Vince and told whoever Vince was scared of that he’d come at them like a...that he’d just come at them, in a half hearted monotone. He didn’t even bother saying he’d come at them like a buzzard, or a wind chime, or a wheelie bin. Vince didn’t need Howard’s protection but his knees always melted when Howard stepped forward and said “Get behind me Vince.” When they were teenagers, and maybe a bit later into his 20’s than he’d like to admit, Vince would even orchestrate situations in which Howard had to protect him. 

Vince sometimes wondered what had caused the change. When the obsession with stationary had taken root. When the neuroses had overrun Howard rather than just being the benign background radiation of their lives. His current working theory was that it was the band. Howard had started to go wrong when they’d started the band. Putting himself out there night after night only to be shot down had obviously been too much for Howard and he had retreated into the sanctuary of his little rituals and obsessions. He no longer claimed to be an explorer or a wildlife photographer. When people asked, he said he was a shopkeeper. He hadn’t mounted any rescue attempts or spy missions in years. Yup. The band. Definitely the band. Couldn’t possibly be anything else. Vince’s brain cell kept postulating alternate (and generally more likely) theories for the change in Howard, but Vince wasn’t interested. 

Vince knew he should be building Howard up. Helping him regain his confidence. Restoring him to his former glory. But when Vince looked at Howard all he could see was what he wasn’t anymore. So he poked. And prodded. Nasty little jabs. Mocking all the little obsessions and rituals as if that would make Howard give them up instead of clinging to them harder. 

Which was what the fight had been about.

_ Vince sat behind the counter looking at the latest issue of Cheekbone. Howard fussed with Stationary Village. _

_ “Thought I might add an alligator clip gazebo to Stationary Village.” _

_ Vince hated stationary village. He really did. It seemed like a representation of how small Howard’s, and by extension Vince’s, world had grown. So instead of taking, if not the high road at least. the medium road and just rolling his eyes and saying “woteva” he instead looked directly into Howard’s eyes and, like a cat, pushed the sellotape tree off the counter _

_ “Why’d you do that?” Howard had shrieked. “Now the tape is all dusty! I’ll have to measure out new strips.” _

_ ”Oh no. What a tragedy,” Vince sneered. _

_ “That is a waste of perfectly good sellotape, sir.” _

_ “I think the village will be able to rebuild.” _

_ Howard balled up the dusty sellotape and threw it at Vince. The ball flew at Vince and stuck to his hair. _

_ “Oi, watch it!” Vince stood up and walked to the center of the store. _

_ “You started it.” _

_ There was a time where this whole exchange would have been accompanied by sly grins and feigned outrage. But now it was all deadly serious. _

_ “It’s all a little sad idn’t it Howard? Grown man playin’ with paperclips?” _

_ Howard held up a finger then pulled out his little notebook of comebacks. He flipped a couple pages then read off the page- _

_ “Not any more sad than a grown man subsisting on alcopops and sweets. I hear any time you go to the dentist, he just has his drill at the ready, soon you’ll have enough silver in your mouth for prospectors to start digging around.” _

_ It was actually a solid burn. If Naboo or Bollo had been there even they would be impressed. But unfortunately the only person to witness it was the recipient. _

_ Vince was extremely sensitive about his teeth. Growing up in the jungle he hadn’t had a lot of access to dentistry. And he did eat rather a lot of sweets and so he had quite a few cavities. _

_ Vince floundered for a comeback. His eyes filled with tears. _

_ Howard felt a flash of guilt. It had been hitting below the belt a bit. _

_ But then the tears were gone and a deep sense of dread settled in Howard’s stomach. Vince was at his most vindictive when he was hurt. _

_ “You want to know what’s really sad? Howard? You. Just you. Everything about you. The way you dress. The way you talk. Your hobbies. It’s all. Just. Sad.” _

_ Vince’s angry breathing was the only sound in the store._

_ Howard jutted out his jaw and for a moment he looked like the old Howard who would have thrown a coffee pot at him before he allowed him to speak like that. But then Vince saw Howard’s dancing fingers, tugging at his sleeve, wanting to deliver a chinese burn (another new habit that Vince despised, hated that Howard was hurting himself) and knew it wasn’t so. He was just bullying someone fundamentally incapable of defending himself anymore. _

_ The anger disappeared instantly. Like it had been sucked out by a hoover. Vince couldn’t stand the look on Howard’s face. He wanted desperately to apologize but instead he walked out of the shop and down the street. _

So Vince went out drinking. It didn’t matter that it was 3 in the afternoon, meaning he’d only been at work an hour before he and Howard had fought. He’d drank 9 flirtini’s and then flirtini’d with a bird at the end of the bar. Drunk Vince found himself hilarious and made this same pun about flirting at least 3 times a week. They kissed a bit, but as always he successfully scraped her off before he was expected to do anything really physical. She kept making eyes at him so he decided to go home. 

Now that he’d successfully convinced himself he didn’t remember what the fight was about (mainly by repeating to himself over and over that he didn’t remember what the fight was about) he’d be able to face Howard. Charm him into forgiving him for whatever it was that he’d done. He was getting home fairly early, maybe they could watch a movie, he could make Howard an apology drawing for whatever it was that he’d done. 

But when he got back to the flat, no one was home. Bollo and Naboo were having it large with the Shaman’s Council for some obscure shamnistic holiday, and now Vince remembered that Howard was listening to Apostolate Jones and the Two-Tones with Lester that night, he’d been excitedly talking about it all week. Especially about Jones’s unique ability to find the sound between the notes, wotever that meant. 

It felt so wrong to be this drunk at 7 o’clock on a Wednesday. Billy Joel oughta write a song about that, Vince thought. Since it was too late to salvage the evening in any way he decided to just really go for broke, get monumentally pissed, steal some good shit from Naboo, then suffer the hangover for an entire week. And he would NOT let Howard dote on him. Because he didn’t deserve to be doted on. He would NOT ask Howard to get him a resolve in the morning. He would NOT ask Howard to hold his hair while he vomited up enough champagne and vodka to drown a Mother's Day brunch. He would have a horrible headache and feel terrible and it was exactly what he deserved.

Vince’s one man party was just as much of a shitshow as he wanted. He mixed together gin (which always made him a bit weepy), pepper vodka (Bollo liked Bloody Mary’s), root beer schnapps that an enemy had gifted Naboo, and blue curacao. He stuck it in a cocktail shaker with ice and then poured the concoction into one of Howard’s brandy snifters. He downed it in one go. It tasted horrific. He made 3 more.

By 9 he had to crawl around the house on his hands and knees because he couldn’t stand in his boots and was too drunk to remember to take them off. He crawled into Naboo’s room, searching for more alcohol or maybe even something a bit stronger. 

He hauled himself to his feet using Naboo’s potion shelf. He tried to dust off the coat of gorilla hair he had on his knees from crawling around on the carpet but he just made it puff up into a cloud and a few hairs floated into his mouth. Gross. He needed something to wash his mouth out with and the kitchen seemed an awful long way away when he was going to have to crawl there. Maybe he could just use one of Naboo’s potions. Just pick one where the effects didn’t sound too bad and go from there. To Vince’s drunken mind this was an absolutely genius plan. 

The first bottle he picked up said “Frog Legs”. He quite liked the idea of hopping around on massive frog legs, but he stopped because he couldn’t really be sure the frog legs would be proportional and he did not fancy the idea of dragging himself around the flat like a seal pup with tiny frog legs. So he stuck that one back on the shelf.

Next was one that said “Bald”. He let out a little shriek and put it back on the shelf, scrubbing his hands on his trousers lest any of the potion seeped from the bottle and got on his hands and made his hair fall out. He may want to punish himself a bit, but that’s beyond the pale. That’s a violation of the laws of God and man, or at least the Geneva convention. He wasn’t entirely sure what the Geneva convention was, but Howard brought it up a lot when Naboo tried to make him do something he didn’t want to do. Much to Naboo’s annoyance, Vince started citing the Geneva convention as well when he asked him to set out the bin bags or wash the dishes. 

The next one was a pleasing purple that swirled with sparkles. Its label said “To Forget.”

Perfect.

Vince pulled the stopper from the bottle and drank the entire thing. Then he got back on his hands and knees and started the long slow crawl back to his and Howard’s bedroom.

Xxx

Howard got back home around 9:30. Lester went to bed early so he could rise at 4am for an outdoor kickboxing class. He figured he had 5 or 6 hours before Vince got home and he could be asleep well before then. He’d have plenty of time to watch a fascinating documentary on the bridges of Madison County entitled _ No. It’s Not that Bridges of Madison County. _ He might even have a brandy before he popped off to bed. Nothing sad about that. No sir. 

He climbed up the stairs and found the flat in an absolute shambles. There were dusty liquor bottles scattered on the floor in the living room. The disgusting liquor that no one drank. Howard thought some of it had come with the flat. He had always thought the bottle of blue curauco was load bearing and that the flat would collapse without it. His brandy snifter was shattered on the floor. Vince’s records were scattered everywhere. Ziggy Stardust looked like it had been stomped on. It looked to be in an even worse condition than his Howlin Jimmy Jefferson record after Vince had bitten it. Vince was going to be devastated. He had 3 other copies, but he always took damage to his things so hard. Not that this made him respect anyone else’s possessions properly. 

Had someone broken in? Broken in and then locked the door behind them? In his experience burglars were not known for their consideration. And nothing appeared to be missing. Except some rather disgusting booze. Bollo and Naboo had left that morning so it couldn’t have been them. Which left...Vince.

Could it be true? Had Howard Moon stayed out later than Vince Noir? Only one way to find out.

The light was on in the room he and Vince shared. He pushed open the door and found Vince passed out face down on his bed, he had no pillow under his head and the lime green zebra striped duvet was bunched up under him. It looked extremely uncomfortable but Vince (Mr. I Don’t Snore himself) was snoring away so it couldn’t have been too bad. He still wore his four inch platforms. Howard briefly thought about shifting Vince around, then got annoyed with himself for it. They were fighting. Might do the little titbox some good to wake up with a crick in his neck. 

Well, maybe he’d just shift his head a little bit so he didn’t smother himself with the mattress. 

Howard turned Vince on his side, The rims of Vince’s eyes were red, in stark contrast to his pale skin. His face was all puffy. He’d definitely been crying. 

Vince’s mouth was stained with about 5 different colors, the top layer, still recent enough that it hadn’t dried and was getting on to the sheets was bright purple and a lot thicker than liquor. Howard had explained before that just because non-toxic paints wouldn’t kill Vince he still shouldn’t eat them, but sometimes Vince saw a color so beautiful he just had to taste it. Always disappointed that it just tasted like paint. He assumed that was what the sparkly purple stuff was. Vince’s impulse control (negligible to begin with even when Howard was there) went straight out the window when he was a) drunk or b) alone or c) upset. This was clearly the perfect storm of impulsivity as he was all three. 

With the task of making sure Vince Noir didn’t die like a rock and roll star, choking on his own vomit, complete, Howard should have retreated to his side of the room. Should have. Instead, he sat on the edge of Vince’s bed. No risk of him waking up. That was for certain. He ran his fingers through his friend’s dark hair. It was stiff from the can and a half of hairspray Vince used on it every day. Vince snuffled. Howard froze when Vince started to move, poised to leap off the bed and be under his own covers before Vince’s eyes opened. 

But Vince simply murmured “Howard” and was silent again. 

Howard sighed for a long time. “What are we gonna do little man?”

Then he stood. Got into his pyjamas. And went to sleep.

The next morning he awoke to Vince screaming.

His eyes flew open like the shades on a house. He was already half across the room before he even knew he was awake.

“Vince? Vince? What is it?”

Vince huddled in the corner where his bed was pushed against the wall. He looked confused and terrified. He hugged his legs to his chest. His eyes kept darting between Howard and the door. His large eyes grew even larger as Howard got closer and his window for escape closed.

“Vince! What’s the matter?”

“Who’re you? Where am I?”

Howard rolled his eyes. Of course. Another joke.

“Right. Very funny Vince. I’m surprised you’d sacrifice your precious beauty sleep for a joke this weak.”

“I don’t-I don’t-Am I-where am I please?”

Vince’s breathing had gone all whistley. Howard had to hand it to him. This was commitment.

“Vince. Give it up. I’m not buying it.”

“Stop callin’ me Vince!” The younger man screamed.

“And what should I call you then?”

Vince jabbed his tongue into the corner of his mouth, which he always did when he was nervous.

“Um. Um.”

“Right. Since you’re up, Um-Um, you can help me with the shop.”

“What shop?”

“The joke is getting less funny by the minute. Come on.”

When Vince made no effort to move Howard reached over to grab him by the arm. Vince flailed away from him shrieking “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

That is when Howard realized something was seriously wrong. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard figures out what happened, Vince has a brief encounter with an old enemy.

Howard’s demeanor instantly changed. Gone was the prickliness. Gone was the imposing frown. He crouched down next to Vince’s bed.

“Hey. Hey. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t touch you, alright? Just calm down.”

Vince looked to be on the verge of a full grown panic attack, his hands pressed to the walls. 

Howard spread his hands out wide. Doing his best to look not threatening but also not allowing Vince to dart for the door. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know something was wrong.”

“Ain’t it a bit obvious?” Vince said, his voice about 2 octaves above his normal register. 

“In retrospect. Yes. But you see…” How could he put this. “You don’t know my friend Vince. He’s quite the joker and this is exactly the kind of stunt he’d pull.”

“What, pretendin’ not to remember anythin’? Sounds like a berk.”

A smile tugged at howard’s lips. “He can be a bit of one yes.” 

Then he was struck by a realization. “So you don’t remember anything? Your name? Where you’re from? Who David Bowie is?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Alright.” Howard did his very best to sound assured. “Not a problem. What is the last thing you remember?”

“Wakin’ up about 30 seconds ago.”

“Okay Vin-uh-” Howard cut himself off, not wanting to set Vince off again. “Okay...you. We’re going to figure this out. Yes, sir. Don’t you worry. Howard Moon is on the case.”

Vince relaxed a bit. “Your name is Howard?”

“Howard T.J. Moon. At your service.”

“And I’m…” he wrinkled his nose, “Vince?”

“Yes. Vince Noir.”

“And we’re a couple?”

Howard choked on air. He coughed for 2 minutes straight. Every time Vince opened his mouth he’d start coughing again. Vince whacked him on the back and finally Howard was able to formulate a response.

“No.”

“What. So we share a room, but we’re not together.”

“Correct. You know friends can share rooms too.”

“But we’re both in our mid-30’s. Surely we’re a bit old for that?”

This nearly sent Howard into another coughing fit until Vince shot him a look and he got it under control. Vince hadn’t admitted his real age since he’d turned 25. He insisted on maintaining the illusion even when it was just the two of them. Generally the suggestion that he was too old for anything would send Vince into a spiral, where he’d purchase far too many moisturizers online, but Vince without his memories seemed to have no problem with his actual age. 

“We might be a bit...um..old for it, but we haven’t been apart for a very long time.”

“How long?”

“Well, we haven’t lived separately since we worked together at the zoo.”

Some things never changed. Vince nearly bounced on the bed in excitement at the prospect of working at a zoo. It reminded Howard so painfully of when he’d first told Vince about his job interview to work at the Zooniverse. Vince had bounced on the bed, just like that, chattering about armadillos and tapirs and unicorns. He spent the week leading up to Howard’s interview working on a variety of safari and animal outfits that they could both wear at the zoo once Howard was hired on and then hired him. Howard pointed out that he hadn’t gotten the job yet. Vince shrugged as if this was a minor detail. He simply said “You’re Howard. You’ll get it.” Then went back to sketching a glam rock pith helmet. 

“We worked at a zoo? Is that where we met?”

“No. We met as children.”

Oh dear. Vince was getting upset again. The yo-yo moods Vince had been suffering for the last couple years still seemed to be in full evidence.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

Howard crinkled his eyes, smiling gently. “I’ll try not to take it personally.” 

Howard stepped out of the room so Vince could get ready. While Vince dressed, Howard ran a cursory search of the apartment. He walked to Naboo’s room and found a bottle smashed on the floor. Thick purple gunk clung to a few shards. He remembered what he had assumed was paint staining Vince’s mouth in his drunken slumber. Viscous and purple. He kicked aside the glass and picked up the twisted piece of masking tape that served as the label. He untwisted it and read it.

Howard sighed. “Oh Vince.”

There was a timid voice at the door. “Howard?”

Howard turned around. Vince wore a black sequin jumpsuit, mismatched neon socks (this made Howard’s heart all achy again. It was strange to miss someone standing right in front of you), and one of Howard’s jumpers. The sleeves of the jumper hung well past Vince’s hands. Vince clung to the doorjamb, his same old pigeon-toed stance.

“Howard?” 

Howard blinked several times. He’d been staring. Not quite believing that Vince would voluntarily wear one of his items of clothing.

“Yes. What is it little man?”

Vince stuck the sleeve of the jumper in his mouth and started sucking it. “Did you figure out what happened?” 

“Yes. There’s a potion. To make you forget.”

“How long does it last?” 

“An excellent question. And one that will be answered forthwith.” 

“Genius!” 

The whole situation was not genius. Howard settled Vince on the couch with a hot cocoa and paced the flat. After getting sent straight to voicemail 47 times, Howard was finally able to get through to Naboo. Never let it be said Howard was not persistent. Though if he had to hear Naboo’s voicemail greeting (Hi. You’ve reached Naboo. If this is Howard or Vince calling, I’ve cursed this voicemail to give you a really bad headache in seven years. Let that be a lesson. Everyone else, leave a message after the beep) he was going to lose it. 

“This betta be good,” Naboo said. 

“Vince has amnesia.”

Howard couldn’t imagine how someone who smoked as much hookah as Naboo did had the lung capacity to sigh that long. Naboo was truly a marvel.

“Got into my potions again, did he?”

“It would appear so.”

“Why didn’t you stop him, ya ballbag?”

“Well, I wasn’t there. Now was I Naboo.”

“Woteva. How much did he take.”

“Um. All of it?”

“And he’s up. Walkin’ and talkin’?”

“Yes?”

It was a lucky thing Vince had been exposed to so much magic over the years. It meant his tolerance was very high.

“Well, thank Brian Chist for small favors.”

“Why?”

“That much forget-me potion, he shouldn’t even remember how to talk. Or eat.”

Howard looked over at Vince staring at the stove in confusion. Maybe things were worse than he’d first realized, but then he remembered that was the face Vince always wore when looking at the stove. 

“How long will it last?”

The annoyance quickly left Naboo’s voice, as for the first time he truly considered the gravity of the situation. “It’s permanent.”

“What?” Howard screamed. 

Vince looked over his shoulder at Howard.

“Wot?” Vince asked.

Howard gave him a smile he hoped was reassuring. It wasn’t, but Vince seemed to appreciate the gesture, he faced forward again. The jumper pulled over his knees. 

“Naboo. We have to fix this,” Howard said. 

“Yeah. I’m aware a’ that ain’t I?”

“When are you coming home?”

“Couple days.”

“Couple-”Howard sputtered, “couple days. Naboo, you come home right now. Fix it!” 

Naboo’s tone was dangerous. “You wanna retract that?”

Howard jutted out his jaw. He’d never spoken to Naboo this way, but they couldn’t muck about. They needed Vince back. 

“Actually, Naboo, I don’t. Come home. Fix it.”

Another long sigh. “Fine.”

Howard knew he would pay for this somehow later, but at the moment he didn’t care. Naboo was coming. And he’d take care of it.

He turned to Vince. “I have to open the shop. I can put on the telly or-”

“Can I come with you?” Vince asked.

Howard’s eyes widened (well, as much as they were capable). Vince never sacrificed an opportunity for a layabout. Certainly not to go to  _ work. _ . “Yeah. Of course.”

Vince followed Howard around like a puppy for the next few hours. If Howard went to take stock Vince was there sitting on a box. If he ran down to the chip shop to get them lunch he had to close the store so Vince could go with him. When he had to use the restroom, Vince tried to follow him in.

“If you could just stay right there Vince. I won’t be but a moment.” 

Vince tried to talk to him through the door.

“Vince. It’s gonna take a lot longer if you’re talkin’, go mind the counter.”

“But Howard, there’s no one here.”

“No arguing.”

Howard splashed water on his face. He just needed a moment. Maybe a couple moments. Just to regroup. It had been quite a draining morning. 

Xxx

Well. He could manage a few minutes without Howard couldn’t he? They’d apparently known each other since they were kids, surely they had spent at least a couple minutes apart in all that time. No need to get anxious. 

He sat behind the counter. A ninja flipped down from the rafters and Vince fell off his stool, but the ninja simply handed him a magazine and then scarpered off. 

Vince idly flipped through the magazine, glancing at the door to the restroom every couple seconds. Apparently Easter egg patterns were well in. 

The bell over the door rang. Vince looked up. The customer who had entered looked exactly like him. He wore a red jumpsuit. His build was the exact same, his hair was the exact same, when he moved he used similar gestures.

Vince smiled at him. “Alright?”

“Hello Vinccccce.” 

“Hi.”

His lookalike looked a bit confused. “Nothing to add?”

Was he supposed to say something else? Was he being rude? “Uh. How are you?”

His lookalike crept forward, a suspicious squint making his large eyes look almost normal sized. “What you playin’ at Vincey?”

“Um. I’m sorry. I don’t really remember you.”

The other man reeled back as if Vince had struck him. “What?!” He nearly shrieked. 

Vince scrambled to make the lookalike feel better, clearly he’d hurt the man’s feelings.

“No. You see I would, but I drank a potion and don’t remember nuffin’. I’m really sorry. But please don’t take it personal. I didn’t even remember me.”

“Oh really?” The lookalike smiled.

Vince smiled back anxiously. “Yeah. Sorry about that mate.”

“Well, that explains the outfit.”

“It does?”

“It’s quite alright Vincey. My name is Lance Dior. I was just coming in to talk fashion with you.”

“Oh, alright! I don’t know much about it, but sure.”

Lance’s smile morphed into a leer, but Vince didn’t notice.

“Don’t you worry about that Vince Nooooir. I taught you everything you know. I’ll just teach you again.”

Xxx

When Howard came out, Vince was chatting up Lance Dior.

“Really? Paisley and stripes? With mismatched shoes?” Vince asked.

“Oh yes, it’s going to be the absolute height of fashion here in a few days.”

“Wow.” 

Howard clears his throat.

“Alright Howard!” Vince said cheerfully.

Howard scowled at Lance. “What are you doing here?”

“Now Howaaaaard,” Lance said. “Is that any way to speak to Vince’s muse?”

“You’re not-there’s no way that-” It was all so wrong, seeing Vince sitting there, happily chatting away with Lance, as if Lance wasn’t hungrily poring over Vince’s outfit, looking for intel, discreetly snapping photos with his phone. 

“Imagine my surprise when I came in to visit my dear friends Vince and Howard only to find out that Vince doesn’t remember me.” Lance’s grin was pure liquid evil. 

“Sod off Dior.” Howard growled.

“Howard!” Vince sounded so shocked by Howard’s outburst.

“He’s not your friend Vince.”

“Wot?” Vince backed away from Lance. “Who is ‘e then?”

“Your arch nemesis.” Howard said.

“I got a’ arch nemesis?” A grin curled across Vince’s face. “Genius.” He whirled on Lance. “Piss off Dior!”

“Fun while it lasted Vincey,” Dior said. “See you lataaaaa,” and with that he flounced out of the shop.

Well. All of Camden would know Vince had lost his memories by supper.

“You’ve got to be more careful,” Howard said.

“‘Bout what?”

“About telling people about your…” How to put this sensitively. “Your condition.” 

“It ain’t like I got cancer or an STI Howard. I lost my mem’ries. I’ll get em back.” 

“I’m just saying. We don’t know how long this is going to last.”

Vince looked stricken. “We don’t?”

“It could last a long time.”

“It could?”

“And people might try to take advantage of you.”

“They would?” Vince’s voice rose to a high squeak. 

Bugger. He was forever spooking this new less sure Vince. He wouldn’t mention yet that Naboo said it was possible it was permanent. 

The bell over the door rang again and Howard was thinking of just closing the shop because really this was all too much and-

Thank God. It was Naboo and Bollo.

Vince screamed. “Run Howard! There’s a gorilla!”

“Precious Vince okay?” Bollo said.

Vince screamed again.

“Run Howard! The gorilla is talkin’!”

Howard instinctively stood in front of Vince.

“It’s alright Vince. These are our friends. Naboo and Bollo. They’re going to help.”

Vince peeked one blue eye out from behind Howard to look at the shaman and his familiar. When they made no threatening moves, he finally came out from behind Howard. He kicked at the floor, still only wearing socks, all of the shoes in his closet were too uncomfortable.

“Sorry bout that. Um. Hi.”

“What Vince wearing?” Bollo asked.

“Um. A jumper?” Vince said. “Why does everyone care so much what I wear?”

“It’s not so much that we care Vince. It’s that you usually care.” Howard said gently.

“Oh.” Vince shifted around a bit self consciously. “Is this...not a good outfit?”

Naboo snorted laughter but when Howard glared daggers at him (and just when had Howard gotten so daring?), he turned it into a cough. 

“It’s fine Vince. Just a bit different from your normal fare.”

“He wearin’ one of Harold’s jumpers.” Bollo said. “Going to get rash. Skin too sensitive for ugly pattern.” 

“Oi! You great monkey!” Vince shouted, causing everyone to jump. “Don’t be insultin’ Howard’s clothes. That is not on!”

Naboo looked at Howard. “We gotta get him fixed quick.”

Even Howard was shaken by Vince’s outburst even though it had been in his defense.

“Yes.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard and Vince avoid a serious talk with dancing

Vince and Howard sat on the couch. Vince wrapped around Howard like a koala bear while Naboo did his exam. Howard didn’t have the heart to brush him off. In fact it was kind of nice to have Vince clinging to him. Like he needed him. It had been a long time since that was the case.

Naboo passed a pink crystal across Vince’s forehead. Poking his stomach with a brass instrument that to Vince looked like a medieval torture device but mostly just tickled. He blew some green powder in Vince’s face that turned red when it came into contact with Vince’s skin.   
  


The tiny shaman slumped back in his armchair. “It’s just like I thought. There ain’t no fixin’ it.”

Vince clung to Howard even harder. His fingers dug into Howard’s arm so deeply it hurt, but Howard didn’t pry him off.

“What does that mean. Exactly?” Vince asked.

“‘S like I said on the phone. It’s permanent. The memories are gone forever.”

“Forever!” Vince shrieked. He sprang to his feet and ran into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Nice one, Naboo.”

“I had quite enough lip outta you for one lifetime,” Naboo said. “You hadn’t told him yet? That there was the possibility it was permanent?”

“Well, I didn’t want to scare him. I was finding a way to break it to him gently. I was up to ‘long time.’ Next I was going to have a discussion with him about the different connotations of the phrase ‘a long time’. I was easing him into it.”

“Waitin’ for me to do it so you didn’t have to, more like,” Naboo said. 

“And you’re really sure there’s nothing that can be done?” Howard said.

“Precious Vince really gone?” Bollo asked. 

Naboo blinked a couple times in quick succession, the Naboolian equivalent of histrionics. “I don’t know. I’ll keep workin’, but uh, don’t get your hopes up. No one has ever drunk a whole bottle before. It’s a miracle he didn’t forget how to breath or summat.”

Terror seized Howard’s chest. The potion could have killed Vince? 

“What are you playing at? Keeping dangerous potions like that in the flat?”

“I keep tellin’ you ballbags not to go through my stuff, but do you ever listen? No. And it ain’t dangerous in small doses. You’re only ‘sposed ta drink a couple spoonfuls. Use it to forget a couple days. Maybe a bad year. The more you drink the further back the amnesia goes.”

Howard felt tears prickle his eyes. Vince. His Vince. Was gone. And the last words they spoke were a fucking fight. 

He hunched his shoulders and covered his eyes with his hand. He couldn’t stand at the moment, to get away. He was embarrassed to be crying in front of Naboo and Bollo but couldn’t help it. He made choked little sobbing sounds.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Howard said. “Sorry.” He cried harder. Seemed to be all he could do.

He expected snickers and snide remarks, but to his surprise Bollo sat down on the couch beside him and patted his back. He was so surprised by the gesture that he managed not to ruin it by yelling “Don’t touch me!” He just let the gorilla comfort him.

When he finally got himself back under control he looked up and saw Naboo’s eyes were red and there were wet tracks in the fur on Bollo’s face. They were losing Vince too. But they knew how profoundly this affected Howard. Vince was his other half. Naboo and Bollo might even say his better half. Even when they were fighting, even when they proclaimed to hate each other and weren’t speaking (which always lasted approximately half an hour) Vince was his soul mate in every way. Even ways they hadn’t spoken about yet, but would have eventually. 

Howard thought Vince might need some time, but after a few hours he still hadn’t come out.

Howard knocked on the door to their room. “Vince? Vince can I come in?”

There was no answer.

“I’m going to open the door.”

Still no answer.

Howard slowly crept into the room, relying on all of his zoo training not to startle the smaller man. Vince sat upright under his zebra duvet. The duvet was trembling.

Howard sat on the edge of the bed and the duvet trembled harder.

“Hey, little man. I’m-I’m sorry you had to find out that way. I should have told you. I just-I didn’t want to scare you.”

Quiet murmuring issued from the duvet.

“What?”

Slightly louder, but still unintelligible murmuring.

“Vince. I can’t hear you.”

Finally. Much louder. “Come in here.”

“What, into the duvet?”

The duvet nodded.

Howard lifted the edge and climbed under the duvet. They both sat cross legged on the bed, creating a sort of tent with their heads serving as the poles. 

Xxx

Vince wiped his eyes quickly while Howard was preoccupied with arranging the duvet so they could see each other. Christy, would he ever stop crying? Howard was going to get so sick of having a milksop for a mate. If he didn’t chuck him in the next few minutes for not being the real Vince. 

“How ya holdin’ up?” Howard then flinched as if he expected Vince to come at him for asking such a stupid question.

What was that all about? 

“I guess okay. Just, um, a bit scared.”

“It’ll be alright.” 

Vince may not perfectly remember all of Howard’s expressions anymore, but he could tell that Howard was lying. Not least because it looked like Howard had been crying as well.

“No it won’t,” Vince said. 

Xxx

Howard wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Generally, Vince was the light and he was the dark. Vince launched them into the clouds and Howard brought them back down to earth. Without Vince’s buoyancy they were going to sink into the earth’s mantle. 

He had to say something. Vince needed him. More than he’d ever needed him before. If he was being completely honest, this might be the first time Vince actually needed him since they were small children. Vince was always able to take care of himself, cockney bitch that he was. Back at the zoo he would play at needing Howard to protect him, but he really didn’t, and once Howard figured that out he couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm for the ruse anymore. Once he knew Vince was just doing it to make him feel important. Now, Vince really did need him.

While Howard was sorting through this rather large shift in their dynamic he almost missed Vince asking a question in a tiny voice.

“Do you hate me?”

“What?” Howard asked.

Vince instantly tried to walk back this moment of vulnerability, pasting a large grin on his face that looked so genuine Howard was almost taken in. Had Vince always been this good at faking smiles? 

Xxx

“You know what? Never mind. I feel better. Let’s go watch a movie or something, they’ll all be new to me. Isn’t that genius? Or we could listen to some music? Guess I’ll have to um, figure out what I like again.”

The enormity of re-establishing his entire identity settled over Vince. He was a blank. If he focused too much on that word, blank, then he was going to start crying again when he’d only just managed to stop. The word kept echoing in his head. His empty head. Blank. Blank. He was blank. Everyone knew him better than he knew himself. He was blank. He was nobody. He was blank. What if he turned into a different person than the one they know and love and they hate him? He’s blank.

“That’s not what you said.”

But Howard didn’t ask him to talk. Just stared at him with his warm chocolate honey eyes. Just waiting for Vince to come out with it. 

Vince licked at the corner of his mouth. Where had that habit come from? His body knew him better than he did. 

The silence was growing and when things were silent too long he seemed to go buzzy in the ears. 

His voice was embarrassingly small when he said “Do you hate me?”

Howard shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Why would you ask that?”

“Because I won’t be the same and what if I don’t like the same things or what if I’m an arsehole now or what if you say hey Vince remember this? And I say no and then you feel bad and then you start to get tired of feeling bad all the time so you stop talking to me and then I’m alone and you hate me for making you feel guilty or-”

“Woah, woah, woah, little man. None of that is going to happen.”

“But it could!” Vince nearly shrieked, though the sound was muted by the rather effective soundproofing of the duvet. 

Xxx

Howard didn’t want to get into a debate about nature vs nurture with an amnesiac but he had to set Vince’s mind at ease. He had to explain to him that he was himself down to his core. And even if little things changed the big things never would. But he didn’t say any of that. Instead-

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Howard said.

“How?”

You forget sir,” Howard winced at the poor word choice, “That I know you better than anyone. I know your stories. I know your likes and dislikes. I know your allergies.” It always made Vince smile when Howard pumped up the pomposity. “If ever there was an expert on Vince Noir then it is Howard Moon.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, sir. Gotta degree in Noirology.”

Vince flashed him a cheeky, if still a bit watery, smile. 

“Gotta bachelor’s do you?”

“Oh yes, but then I went and got my master’s in Vince studies.”

“That an exclusive program?”

“Very exclusive. Very well respected. Then I got my Ph.D.”

“What was your thesis then?”

“Judging Self-Confident Addiction: Vince Noir Rock And Roll Star in the dialectic.”

“Alright then, Mr. Expert. What’s my favorite food?”

“Ultra-violets. Next.”

“What’s my favorite film?”

“Labyrinth. Next.” 

“What’s my mum’s name?”

“Um.”

Vince smirked at Howard. “What. We’re such great friends and you don’t know my mum’s name? Might be overblowin’ your importance a bit, Howard.”

Howard didn’t smile back.

Vince’s smile left in stages. First his smile was wide. Then it drooped a bit at the corners. Then one side dropped off completely and he was left with a shy lopsided smile that also disappeared.

“Howard? Did somethin’ happen to my mum?”

“Well. Um.” Howard’s small eyes darted around, searching for anything to look at that wasn’t Vince’s face.

“She dead then?” 

Howard couldn’t stand that flat dead tone in Vince’s voice.

“No. Well. I don’t think-we don’t really know. Anything about your mum. Or your dad.” Howard finished lamely. 

How much more could Vince’s poor old head take before it simply exploded?

Vince chewed on his lip. Swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Bracing himself.

“Why not?”

“Well, uh, the way you explained it to me, was that they threw you onstage at one of Bryan Ferry’s concerts. When you were a baby. And then, uh, disappeared. So Bryan took you back to his home in the jungle and raised you, until it was time for you to go to school, and then you, lived in a few foster homes.”

Xxx

There was so much to take in that Vince decided to start with the piece that seemed most easily broken off.

“Who’s Bryan Ferry?”

Xxx

Upon hearing those words Howard half expected the universe to rend itself in two. So wrong was it to hear Vince Noir utter the words “Who’s Bryan Ferry?”

He had to introduce Vince back to his music otherwise a black hole was going to form in the living room when Vince asked “So who’s this Mick Jagger character?” Or at the very least Howard’s heart would break. It was a violation of the laws of the universe for Vince not to natter on about Bowie, or Iggy, or Freddie, or Gary incessantly.

And if this was a distraction from a rather painful conversation about Vince’s upbringing? Well. So much the better.

“Come on. Up you get. Before we do anything else we need to listen to some music. Come along.” 

Vince also seemed relieved not to have to continue the discussion. 

He took Vince’s hand. It was strange. Ever since Vince had woken up without his memories he had very little issue with touching Vince or Vince touching him. He decided not to question it and just enjoy the brief interlude before his neuroses again reared their ugly heads.

He dragged Vince into the living room, thankful that Naboo seemed to have magicked away the mess from Vince’s mini-bender. He didn’t want any reminders of the state of mind Vince must have been in last night to purposefully get rid of his memories. Though his mind kept returning to the thought like a tongue to a loose tooth. Was Vince trying to get rid of himself? Or Howard?

He sat Vince down on the couch and grabbed a gigantic stack of vinyl.

“Right. We’re going to go over a few basics. Just enough to hold a conversation.”

“What you mean? Like a language. I’m not fluent in music but I am conversational that sorta thing?”

“Exactly. We’re musicians Vince. We speak music. So we need to restore your baselines, otherwise our sound will be all off.”

“My bass lines. I play bass?”

“No. Well. Yes. Sometimes. But no. Just. Be quiet alright?” 

A smile tugged at Vince’s lips as he seriously considered seeing just how far he could go with needling Howard, but ultimately decided against it. 

Howard figured he must be too curious about his likes and dislikes to waste time being a cheeky bitch. 

They started with God. Well, Vince’s God. Howard worshiped at the altar of Coltrane, but Vince was a devout Jaggerarian. Building Mick Jagger shrines, swearing on a copy of  _ Let It Bleed  _ when he’d had to stand as a character witness for Howard after some unfortunate business with a fish pond, trying to communicate with Mick telepathically. Naboo once tricked Vince into thinking he was talking to Jagger with his mind for a month, but eventually had to stop. Naboo told Howard it was because he was sick of having to google trivia about Keith Richards to make the ruse more believable. The real reason was Vince was telling him tremendously private stuff about himself and Howard, and his feelings about Howard, and Naboo did  _ not  _ need that visual. And he maybe, maybe, maaaaybe felt a bit bad about it. Vince was a lot more complicated than he let on. 

Xxx

They started with  _ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction _ and as soon as that first dirty sweet riff entered Vince’s ears it sank into his bones. Like his body already knew every note. He saw the face of God. Heard the voice of God. He was enraptured. 

This was apparently the correct response gathering from Howard’s crinkled smile.

Vince sprang to his feet.

He danced around the room. His moves not quite as polished as usual. He wasn’t pulling any shapes. Just moving to the music. Letting the trickster God Jagger pull his strings like a marionette. 

Howard was still on the couch. Watching him with a distinctly gooey look in his eye. His arms crossed. But not like he was angry. More like he was giving himself a hug. 

Xxx

Vince strutted with his hands held down at his waist, his lips poked out in a pout. A perfect mirror of Jagger’s signature move. If Howard had seen Vince do it once he’d seen him do it a million times. 

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

“No. Why?” Vince asked.

“Nothing.”

The power of Jagger. Transcending the bonds of memory. 

“Come on Howard! Dance with me!”

Howard shook his head. “Oh no little man, you’re doing just fine without me.”

Vince grabbed Howard’s hand. Howard jerked it away.

But then he saw the hurt look in Vince’s eyes and considered all the times Vince had asked him to dance and he’d refused. Eventually Vince stopped asking. Then he stopped dancing. At least when Howard was around. So he stood up. 

“One song. The rest of this song.”

“Noooo! A whole song.”

“Alright.”

“But it’s gotta be the right song.”

“Oh for Heaven’s-You don’t remember any of these songs. How are you going to find the right one?”

“You pick. You’re the resident Vince expert yeah? Come on. Let’s dance to my favorite song.”

Vince’s favorite song? That was a slightly taller order than Vince probably realized. Vince picked up favorite songs like other people picked up takeaways, but he did love them intensely. In that moment.

Anytime he and Howard were having a particularly good day there would be a point where Vince’s happiness would overwhelm him and he would simply bubble over, he would declare whatever song happened to be on the radio at that particular moment his “favorite song of all time.”

If he was drunk or high and a Bowie song came on he would proclaim “this is my favorite song ever.” 

If someone else, Howard excepted, told Vince what their favorite song was, more often than not he would reply with an enthusiastic “Me too! Best song ever!”

The strange thing is that he was always telling the truth. 

So maybe he couldn’t pick Vince’s very favorite song, but he could pick Vince’s first favorite song. 

He flipped through the stack of records Vince left on the couch. Selected the album. He gently lifted off  _ Hot Rocks _ and set the new record on the turntable.

_ The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.  _ It was lucky Vince owned multiple copies since he had, either accidentally or perhaps on purpose, smashed the everloving shit out of one of them. He’d have to ask Naboo where the pieces were, Vince would be-would have been-upset if they got thrown away. Vince never threw anything away, he said he felt guilty, like he was abandoning a friend. 

Howard positioned the needle.

Gentle guitar. And Vince was already entranced. 

Then Bowie’s voice.

_ Didn't know what time it was and the lights were low _

Starman. 

Vince grabbed Howard’s hands and twirled him around the room laughing.

Howard mused that it was sort of a rare gift. Getting to hear all of your favorite music again as if it was the first time. There’s a lot he would give to be able to hear  _ Birdland  _ with new ears again. 

_ There's a starman waiting in the sky _

_ He'd like to come and meet us _

_ But he thinks he'd blow our minds _

He hadn’t seen Vince’s face this open in so long. He was glad he could give this to Vince after what a horrific day it had been overall.

_ Let the children lose it _

_ Let the children use it _

_ Let all the children boogie _

They spun and Howard showed off a couple of his moves. Vince laughed, but he wasn’t laughing at Howard, it was just a sincere expression of joy.

_ I had to phone someone so I picked on you _

And Howard didn’t sit down after one song. They danced until A-side of the album was done.

The disconsolate bump of the needle hitting the center of the album (a sound that always made Howard feel terribly lonely, until he flipped the record and was surrounded by music yet again) dumped him back into reality. He felt horribly guilty. For enjoying himself. For thinking about how nice it was to have the old Vince back. It was so easy to get attached to this Vince with no cruel curve to his smirk and no rolling eyes whenever Howard moved or breathed. A sweet respite from the snide jabs and mean little jokes. It was so easy to forget what life with Vince had been like these last few years when Vince was staring at him like he was the only person in the world. His knight in shining armor. It was so easy to feel himself slipping into the role of Vince’s protector and hero again after all this time. Because for the first time in so very very long Vince actually needed him. And, more importantly, Vince wanted him.

But this wasn’t the old Vince. It was a new Vince. He felt disloyal and selfish. Like he was taking advantage of Vince not remembering all the mistakes Howard had made. Like he was going to start over and do it right this time. 

Vince walked over and flipped the record, ready to listen to the B-side. He was still smiling. He grabbed Howard’s hands to start dancing again as the song began, but Howard became a great northern wall.

Vince tugged at Howard’s hands again. His smile wilting like a flower in hot weather.

“Come on. You aren’t tired already are ya?” 

Howard could tell Vince was trying to salvage the mood, but he couldn’t quite find it within himself to give Vince a hand. 

“It’s late. You’ve had a hard day.”

“Oh. Alright. Yeah. You’re probably…”

Howard hated the disappointed look on Vince’s face, but it was one he was quite familiar with. Vince’s memories were gone. He had a lot to learn and he might as well learn it quick. This was an important lesson. Howard Moon often disappointed Vince Noir. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince gets a bit of history. Which means Baby Boosh! Very very angsty Baby Boosh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am a liar with zero self control, therefore my release schedule of one chapter a week has gone straight out the window. So here is the next chapter. Hope you guys like it!

Howard woke with a start at 3 in the morning. He looked over and Vince was gone. All sleep was banished as he got to his feet. He threw on his dressing gown and stepped out of their room.

He saw the back of Vince’s head and heaved a sigh of relief.

He walked around to the front of the couch and saw Vince quietly paging through one of their photo albums. Howard was an enthusiastic photographer and loved organization systems so they had quite a solid archive stretching back to when Howard would “borrow” his father’s polaroid when they were small children. 

Vince had started at the beginning with a volume of photos creatively titled  _ Vince and Howard: The Early Years.  _ Sometimes Naboo groused about keeping 18 photo albums in the living room but there simply wasn’t enough space in Vince and Howard’s room what with all of Vince’s clothes and makeup and sewing equipment and art supplies and Howard’s books and photography gear and outdoorsman gear and the gear from a thousand hobbies he spent exorbitant amounts of money on before dropping them a few days later. 

Vince eyed a picture of Vince and Howard looking quite rumpled. Vince’s nose was swollen and Howard’s shirt was ripped. Howard was smiling, triumphant, Vince looked a bit more reserved.

“My dad took that one,” Howard said.

Vince touched the picture. “What happened here?”

“That was the first time we ever won a fight.”

_ Vince was a couple years younger than Howard. And a lot smaller; as Howard always seemed to be in the midst of a painful growth spurt that didn’t end until they were well out of school. _

_ Sometimes when they couldn’t agree on what they wanted to do during recess they split up. On this day Vince saw an anthill and wanted to watch it. Howard thought this sounded exactly as interesting as, well, watching an anthill. He figured it was probably a lot more interesting if you could talk to the ants.  _

_ Howard wanted to read. Vince figured reading was a lot more interesting when the letters didn’t dance across the page and conspire ways to trick you into embarrassing yourself when it was time to read aloud in class.  _

_ Howard was sitting under a tree reading when he heard Vince screaming.  _

_ “Stop it stop it stop it!” Vince shrieked.  _

_ Howard had never heard Vince scream like that. His voice higher than usual and absolutely horrified.  _

_ “Stop iiiiiiit!” Now Vince’s voice disappeared like he’d broken it.  _

_ Howard threw down his book and sprang to his feet. No consideration for keeping his place. Vince needed him.  _

_ He ran across the field to the back corner where Vince had told him the anthill was.  _

_ When he got there 2 older boys held Vince while another used a makeshift flamethrower, consisting of hairspray and a lighter, to burn the ants. Vince’s nose was bleeding.  _

_ He froze. Outnumbered.  _

_ “Stop it, you’re hurting them.” Vince sobbed. “Please. Please stop.”  _

_ He’d never heard Vince beg before.  _

_ Vince was so precocious that sometimes it was easy to forget he was just a little kid. And this was a brutal reminder.  _

_ The kid with the flamethrower picked up an ant and squished it between his fingers in front of Vince’s face.  _

_ Vince wasn’t using words anymore. He just screamed. Broken hearted and scared. Pure misery.  _

_ And it was this sound that caused Howard to spring into action. He never ever wanted to hear that sound again. He didn’t care if he was outnumbered. He didn’t care if he had to face down the entire bloody Bolivian army. He could not hear Vince screaming like that anymore.  _

_ “Oi!” He roared. “Let ‘im go!” _

_ “‘An ‘oo’s gonna make us jazz poof?” The one with the flamethrower asked, clicking his lighter menacingly.  _

_ “Me. I’ll come at you like a buzzard. Like a wildcat. Like a cable car. You won’t know what hit ya.”  _

_ Then without waiting for an answer (they abandoned the rules of engagement when they ganged up on Vince and for that they would receive no mercy. No quarter) he tackled the one with the flamethrower to the ground. They thrashed around, wrestling for control of the lighter.  _

_ One of the boys holding Vince let go to rush over and punch Howard. The remaining boy holding Vince suddenly found himself with a lot more than he bargained for as Vince went absolutely feral. Thrashing. Clawing. Biting. He let Vince go so he could staunch the blood over his eye where Vince raked his nails leaving three deep furrows on his face.  _

_ Then Howard got control of the lighter. Vince jumped on the flamethrower’s former owner and Howard kicked the other boy square in the balls.  _

_ He picked up the forgotten can of hairspray and flicked the lighter. He pointed it at the ringleader. _

_ Vince disentangled himself and ducked behind Howard. Now that the initial adrenaline rush of combat was over he was back to being a tiny sad kid.  _

_ “Get out of here,” Howard said. His tone brooked no argument. “Don’t talk to Vince. Don’t look at him. Don’t even think about him. Because I’ll know. And I’ll burn your life down.” _

_ Vince poked out from behind Howard.  _

_ “And don’t hurt no more ants neither.” _

_ “You heard the man,” Howard said. “Don’t hurt any more ants either.”  _

_ With that the boys scarpered off.  _

_ With the threat gone Vince sat down hard on the ground. Sobbing.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry.” _

_ “Vince. Who are you talking to?” _

_ “Their Queen. She-she wants to know where everybody is.”  _

_ Howard swallowed his distaste for physical contact and knelt in front of Vince. Vince threw his arms around Howard’s neck, burying his face in Howard’s shoulder. Howard rubbed his back. Petted his hair. Made sweet shushing sounds. The bell rang for them to return to class and Howard hated nothing more than being late, but he stayed with Vince until he stopped crying.  _

_ Howard whispered in Vince’s ear, “I’ll always protect you. I’ll always always protect you.”  _

_ By the afternoon Howard had mostly forgotten about the ants, he was just excited that he and Vince had won a fight! Vince didn’t forget the ants. Not until he had a run in with a potion some 25 years later. _

“So that’s the kind of person you were. Are,” Howard said. “So much kindness in your heart you’d cry for ants. So much fierceness you faced off against 3 bullies on your own before I got there. So much...magic in your soul that you can bloody speak to animals.” 

Vince tucked his knees to his chest and then set his head on them.

“I wish I remembered that. All these stories. All these memories. Lost. Gone. Why’d I do that?”

“I couldn’t say little man. Only that the Vince I know. He wouldn’t have meant for it to go this far. I-” and as he’s saying it he realizes it’s true, “I think it was an accident. I don’t think he meant to erase himself entirely. I just think he was tired of hurting, and just wanted it to stop for a bit. Not forever.”

“I was so stupid!” Vince yelled. “I had everything. Cool friends, great music, a home, you, and what I just throw it all away? Just what the fuck was I playin’ at?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself Vince. It weren’t all sunshine and roses.”

“Yeah right,” Vince muttered darkly. 

“We acquitted ourselves well that day, yes sir, make no mistake. But you’ve only heard about us at our best. You’ve no idea what we were like at our worst. What I was like. At my worst.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bryan Ferry comes for tea. Some Teen Boosh.

They settled into a rhythm over the next week. Howard woke up at 6 like he always did, Vince woke at 7 since he didn’t go out anymore and thus went to bed at a halfway decent hour. They went down to the shop together, they opened the shop together, they ate every meal together, spent all evening together, then went to bed...separately. 

Howard enjoyed the mornings the best. There was something so intimate about speaking with someone who still had sleep in their eyes and gravel in their throat. The day hadn’t had time to set in yet. It was cozy. 

Vince would often drag his duvet out with him. Only his nose sticking out, until Howard set a cup of tea in front of him. Then an arm would snake out and grab the mug and it would retract back into the duvet. Howard didn’t know how Vince managed to drink in there without spilling tea everywhere. But he seemed to manage. 

After Vince came down to the shop in nothing but stocking feet for three days running and, horror of horrors, tried to walk down to the chip shop in just his stocking feet, Howard asked what the problem was. Vince said all of his shoes were uncomfortable. Howard walked to the charity shop and bought Vince a pair of trainers. They were plain white. Vince loved a canvas. And with zero prompting from Howard, Vince started decorating them.

He wrote “Jagger is God” on the heel of the left shoe. He’d done the same thing in school when he got his first brand new pair of shoes. His foster parents at the time, stalwart religious people, had been unamused. Not so much by the casual blasphemy. More for besmirching a pristine pair of white trainers. But Vince saw every white space as a canvas. Envelopes, feed schedules at the zoo, the margins of Howard’s books. He even learned how to work with ceramic paint to decorate a chipped and mismatched set of plates Howard had picked up at a garage sale when they first started living together. 

He colored the toe of one trainer purple and the other lime green. 

He wanted to attach some crystals but could not for the life of him figure out how to work the bedazzler. 

His fashion sense seemed to return, though he was still prone to stealing the odd bit from Howard’s wardrobe, but he worked them in rather artfully. Going for a goth hawaiian look one day. Stealing a loquacious fawn rollneck to wear under his nudie suit for a 70’s rhinestone cowboy look. 

At night they listened to music. Howard was trying to reintroduce Vince to all his favorite things. So for once he wasn’t bitching, since it wasn’t actually Vince choosing. It was him. And as they worked through the Human League, Kraftwerk, and Gary Numan’s entire back catalogue, Howard began to appreciate Vince’s music a bit more. He’d always dismissed Vince’s musical taste out of hand. Assuming it was all electro-nonsense. But now Vince had a million questions about the music and so Howard was forced to truly consider why Vince liked it. He found there were some compelling reasons. It was perhaps more imaginative than he had first realized. Experimental. But in a controlled lab setting rather than the raw improvisational power of jazz. And while it would never be his favorite, he stopped belittling it at every turn. He didn’t want Vince to feel self-conscious about his taste.

Then it was Thursday. Vince’s memories had been gone just over a week. They put on Roxy Music. Vince read the liner notes and saw Bryan Ferry’s name. 

“So this guy, he’s like my dad then?”

“Yyyyyeah,” Howard said. He didn’t mention that he didn’t especially like Bryan and found him to be a horrifically irresponsible parent.

“Do you think-do you think maybe we could call him?”

It hadn’t occurred to Howard that Vince might want to talk to someone besides himself, Naboo, or Bollo about his memories. That he might want some first hand accounts of his childhood in the jungle rather than their foggy remembrances of his stories, which were forever changing so it was impossible to know which version was the truth. But of course he would. He was hungry for any scrap of information they gave him. 

“Why don’t I speak with him? See if he can come by,” Howard said.

Howard wanted to protect Vince a bit. He didn’t want Vince to be disappointed if Bryan was in one of his moods and decided to act like a tit.

Bryan and Vince had reconnected after they’d run into each other in the forest. Vince had been furious that Bryan hadn’t come to rescue him from the Hitcher when he blew the horn like he said he would. So he made Howard drive him into the forest again so he could go tell Bryan off. He only packed one mix tape for the journey full of angry punk songs ( _ Pretty Vacant _ by the Sex Pistols,  _ Nazi Punks Fuck Off _ by the Dead Kennedy’s) and listened to it over and over for the entire 6 hour journey so that his natural happiness wouldn’t take over and he’d forget what he was so angry about. He was determined to let Bryan have it. But then he saw Bryan with a broken arm, a broken leg, and a horribly bruised face and his anger was gone in a flash. Bryan explained that he had been coming to rescue Vince but he’d been hit by a motorcycle on his way. Naboo had said when he and Fossil were coming to rescue Vince and Howard some batty crease with blue eyebrows had run into the middle of the road but they had no idea who he was. The pieces finally fit. Vince couldn’t stay angry and he and Bryan started talking on the phone every once in a while. He always seemed a bit quiet and reserved after the calls. And far too concerned with the musical integrity of their group, which was supposed to be Howard’s bailiwick. He knew Bryan made Vince feel bad about his music. Telling him he wasn’t as talented as his other children. 

Vince grinned. “Great!”

Howard waited until Vince went to get them a curry for supper, then dialed Bryan’s number.

Who still had a ringback tone in this day and age? And who set their ringback tone as one of their own songs? What a nonce.

“Hellllllo,” Bryan said in his strange accent.

“Yes. Hello Mr. Ferry. It’s Howard Moon.”

“Yes. Vince’s little friend.”

“Right, yeah. Look somethin’s happened.”

“Is Vince alright?”

“Well, in a sense yes. But in a much larger and truer sense. No.”

“What’s happened?”

“Well. He’s got amnesia. He doesn’t remember anything.”

“Oh dear.”

“And I’ve been telling him quite a lot about you. He wants to see you. Seeing as how, well, you’re his father.” Howard couldn’t resist a passive aggressive little qualifier. “Pretty much.” 

“Oh. Yes. I see. Well…I’m not exactly. There’s so much to...”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought, I’ll break the news you can’t come.”

Howard pulled the phone from his ear. He could hear Bryan’s tinny voice issuing from the phone’s tiny speaker. He considered pretending that he couldn’t hear, but this wasn’t about him, it was about Vince, then put the phone back up to his ear. 

“Yes. Mr. Ferry. I’m here.”

“I’ll come.”

“You will?”

“Despite what you may think, I love Vince, and I’d like to see him.”

“Oh. Alright then. Good. Can you...come on Sunday. For tea?”

“I’ll be there.”

When Howard told Vince he bounced around the room excitedly like he’d been told he got to have Father Christmas for tea.

He spent the next couple days getting the flat ready for Bryan’s arrival. Howard missed having him down in the shop, but Vince had put in more hours at the shop in the last week than he had in the previous month so Howard couldn’t claim he actually  _ needed  _ him down there. Just liked him to be. 

Getting ready mainly seemed to consist of finding new and unique ways of displaying their vast array of musical instruments. After Vince’s second failed attempt at a keytar hammock, Howard suggested that maybe he was taking things a bit too seriously. Not words he’d ever think he would apply to Vince.

“But I want him to like me,” Vince said.

“He does like you. He loves you.”

“He likes Old Vince,” Vince said.

“There is no old Vince. There’s just Vince. Just you.”

Howard tried to sound like he meant that. But there was an Old Vince and a New Vince. It was all so miserably twisted together. All he wanted was to make Vince happy. With New Vince it was all so easy. He adored Howard. Followed him around. It was just like when they were kids. When Howard was teaching Vince everything he knew (but not everything Howard knew). But he didn’t know how to crimp and his teasing was so gentle as to be nonexistent. He was eager to please but Howard could see him clamping down and not saying what he really thought because he either didn’t think Howard would like it or he thought it wasn’t sufficiently “Vince-like”. It was like Vince was trying to build a perfect replica of himself without any of the negative aspects to soften the blow of the old Vince being gone.

It was all so confusing. Made more so by the fact that so much of Vince’s Vince-ness was still present. His natural optimism. That gigantic grin. His sweet tooth. His fantastical sense of humor. His strangely haunting singing voice. But there were a lot of things that were different as well. His distaste for uncomfortable shoes. He was scared of a lot more things. He wasn’t naturally good at every single thing he tried anymore. 

“And you really think he’ll like me?”

“Yes Vince. Everybody likes you. It’s always been that way.”

“Really?” Vince was angling for a story. He could always tell because Vince would snuggle down beside him and look up at him through his fringe with those impossibly large eyes. 

Howard had found that the best way to explain Vince to himself was to tell stories. The stories pulled double duty. They saved Howard from having to come up with different ways to say “amazing” and “beautiful” and “sweet” and “a right titbox at times”. And they gave Vince a memory back. Even if it was a shoddy facsimile.

_ Howard was 13, Vince 11. They were walking through the quad at school to the library. Howard was mentally composing a poem and Vince was happily chattering away about Freddie Mercury’s hair through the ages. _

_ “And when I’m old enough to dye my hair it’s gonna look just like Freddie’s did in 1974. It was the absolute pinnacle of what hair can accomplish. It was beautiful. Black. Perfect structure. Not all straw like mine.” _

_ It took them twenty minutes to get across a 100 meter stretch of grass because every couple steps someone would walk up to Vince to strike up a conversation. He gave every single person the exact same amount of attention and affection. As if they were some long lost relative or member of his inner circle. Vince didn’t have an inner circle. He had an inner line. That stretched from himself to Howard. As far as Vince was concerned there was him and Howard and there was everybody else. But to make up for excluding everyone from their little world he had to be extra nice to everybody as a sort of consolation prize.  _

_ Howard didn’t really understand Vince’s strange logic and so the constant conversation annoyed him to no end. He didn’t understand Vince thought of him as special. He didn’t feel very special at all when Vince greeted everybody with the kind condescension of visiting royalty. He could afford to be magnanimous. He was popular. _

_ Whenever Howard pointed out Vince was popular you could almost see the sludge dripping off the word as if it was an indictment on Vince’s character that he was well liked. Like his integrity was in question because he got on with basically everyone. _

_ “Vince, the library closes soon,” Howard said. _

_ “Alright, keep your shirt on,” Vince said.  _

_ Vince finished the conversation with the girl he’d been chatting up and they were moving again. _

_ For about 2 steps. _

_ “Vince!” A chubby boy with spots all over his chin ran up to them. He dressed quite similarly to Vince but could not actually pull off the look.  _

_ “Alright Leroy,” Vince said, smiling.  _

_ “Oh for Heaven’s sake,” Howard muttered. _

_ “I was wondrin’ if you wanted to come over for tea on Saturday?” _

_ “Genius! I’d love that-” _

_ “Actually Vince,” Howard interrupted, “we had plans for Saturday.” He was lying. He didn’t like the idea of Vince and Leroy hanging out together. Because like Howard, Leroy was awkward. Like Howard, Leroy didn’t have any friends besides Vince. Leroy had the advantage of liking the same music and clothes as Vince, how long until he started to prefer Leroy. Surely Vince would only have room in his heart for one friendless freak. _

_ “Did we? Sorry Leroy. Guess I forgot. Unless. Howard, what we doin’ Saturday?” _

_ Howard had not thought this ploy through. “Digging...for...fossils.” _

_ “Oh yeah! Hey. You want ta come wiv us?” Vince said.  _

_ “Really?” Leroy asked. _

_ “Yeah! It’ll be fun.” _

_ “Great. Thanks Vince! Thanks Howard!” With that Leroy scampered off. _

_ “Why’d you do that?” Howard said. “He’s so annoying.”  _

_ “Because we didn’t actually have plans for Saturday. And I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” Vince said. He did not sound particularly impressed with Howard.  _

_ Howard winced. The ruse hadn’t actually worked. He’d been relying on Vince’s natural forgetfulness to cover for him. _

_ “You could be a bit nicer Howard. Leroy is cool. You’d like him if you gave him a chance.”  _

_ “And what is cool about him exactly? That he follows you around? Dresses like you? That’s not a friend Vince. That’s a fan.”  _

_ “Woteva. Come. Don’t. Leroy and I are gonna be diggin’ for fossils on Saturday.” _

_ They he stalked across the field, waving like the Queen in order to be able to move unimpeded. Howard had to jog to catch up with him. _

_ Thanks in large part to Vince’s friendship, Leroy grew more confident. He stopped copying Vince’ style and developed one of his own, a sort of urban cowboy look that genuinely worked. He and Howard sort of warily circled each other once Leroy became socially savvy enough to see that Howard was never particularly nice to him. Stole his pants on more than one occasion. _

_ Howard never said so, but it hurt his feelings that the first band Vince ever started was with Leroy. Nevermind it was that ridiculous glam folk band, Simon & Simmons, where they wore fisherman sweaters and kiss makeup and it was an unmitigated disaster that only lasted 2 gigs. He’d always thought the first time they were in a band, it would be together. But then, Vince didn’t end up being his first bandmate either.  _

“There. You see? We couldn’t get three bloody steps without being mobbed by your admirers. And Bryan will love you just the same. He loved you before he knew you. Takin’ you home and raising you from a nipper.”

“Yeah. but everybody loves babies.”

“Not Jimmy Puffersniffs, the bloke down the road.” Howard said. “Someone handed him a baby once and he punted it into the channel. Had to send a rescue dog after it, brought it out like a retriever with a duck in its jaws. Baby was fine of course, it could breathe underwater, but no one ever asked him to hold their niece again.” 

Xxx

And so the day of Bryan Ferry’s visit arrived. Vince was all atwitter, even more than usual, as they waited for the fated hour to arrive. He kept disappearing into his room and coming back out with a different outfit. He demanded Howard’s opinion on each one, which was pure Vince, and actually seemed to weigh his opinion, which was not. 

The doorbell rang and Vince shot to his feet. “I have to change! It’s all wrong!” He lunged for the door to their bedroom but Howard grabbed him by the arm.

“No you don’t, little man. You look lovely. And it wouldn’t matter if you were wearing a potato sack.”

Vince looked scandalized by this statement but settled down enough to go down with Howard to answer the door. 

Bryan held a rather large box that he was forced to drop when Vince launched himself into his arms. Howard, in the smoothest moment of his life, caught the box before it smashed on the ground.

“Ah. Yes. Hello. Vince,” Bryan said. 

After the initial hug Vince got a case of the shys. 

So there they all sat in the living room. Vince, Howard, Naboo, and Bollo all wedged into the couch. Bryan with the place of honor in Naboo’s tatty orange recliner. 

Howard poured everyone’s tea and then they settled back down into silence.

Naboo coughed. Howard wasn’t sure if it was to break the awkward silence or because all those years of hookah smoking had finally caught up with him. 

Howard didn’t think he’d ever seen Vince this quiet while he was still awake. And honestly he’d seen him less quiet in his sleep since he frequently talked in his sleep. 

Vince was going to beat himself up for days if this didn’t go well.

“What’s in the box?” Howard said.

Bryan glanced down at the box which sat by his feet. “Ah. Yes! The box. It contains a few of Vince’s personal effects. I thought he might like them.”

Vince never could resist surprises. He climbed off the couch and sat down cross legged next to Bryan’s chair. He pulled the box into his lap and flipped open the cardboard flaps.

First he pulled out a bus ticket. He looked questioningly at Bryan. 

“You grew up in my treehouse made of bus tickets. We knocked up a conservatory in the east wing. We had to knock out one of the walls. Thought you might like a piece of the old homestead.”

Next Vince pulled out a necklace with a large fang on a leather cord festooned with beads and pearls and feathers.

“Your babysitter, Jahooli the leopard, had a toothache, we had to pull the tooth. You asked to keep it, you made this necklace. You could talk anyone into anything. You talked macaws and ravens into giving you their feathers, you talked oysters into giving you their pearls. You wore it everywhere. I rushed you quite a bit while you were packing to return to the city and you left it. You were very upset. I said I’d mail it to you, but then I left on tour, and then I forgot and then 25 years had gone by and-well, thought you might like to have it back.”

Vince’s life was a dance of magic and pain. Howard had only been able to see the magic, assuming Vince floated through life with his feet never touching the ground. It was only after he was forced to truly think about what made Vince...Vince that he was able to see how the pain had shaped him as well. 

The box of trinkets was all it took for Vince’s natural friendliness to take over. “Wow! This is genius.”

“If you do say so yourself,” Howard smirked and nudged Vince with his foot.

“You know what I mean.” Vince slipped the necklace over his head. 

Xxx

Vince had a million questions for Bryan but he didn’t know if he wanted to ask them in front of an audience. Not even Howard. 

Bryan caught Vince worrying the corner of his lip with his tongue. His eyes crinkled, as he had seen that exact expression a million times when Vince was growing up. When he’d asked why his synthesizer was covered in mushy bananas. When the howler monkeys would screech and Vince would wake up screaming at the sound, convinced they were coming to steal his face.

“Can Vince and I have a moment?” Bryan asked.

Vince already knew Howard wouldn’t like the idea. 

“It’s alright Howard,” he said, already standing up. “I need to talk to ‘im on my own.”

Vince stood up and led Bryan to his and Howard’s room. He took the box with him. He flashed Howard a quick smile before he closed the door.

Vince climbed onto his bed, Bryan sat on the edge of Howard’s. 

“Anything you’d like to know?”

“Will you tell me about the night-I dunno how to word it-you didn’t find me-not really. Just the night my parents-”

Threw me away, is what Vince couldn’t bring himself to say. Like a brassiere at a boy band concert. 

“The night you came into my life,” Bryan said gently.

“Yeah.”

“I was in a difficult place at the time. Eno had just left the band. My first tour without him. We were playing Wembley. I was wrapping up the gig. Singing Avalon when I heard this crying. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. There are a lot of noises while you’re on stage. Lots of distractions. Can’t afford to let it throw you. But it sounded so close. And also strangely...in tune? So I moved toward the sound and there you were. Wrapped in a blanket, sitting in front of the amplifiers with a giant set of earmuffs. Now I’d never stopped a song midway before. Not even when King Crimson stormed the stage during the prog rock wars. But I stopped when I saw you. The crowd started to yell, wanting to know why I’d stopped. Until I picked you up. Then the crowd went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. ‘Whose baby is this?’ I asked. There was no answer. And believe me, we would have heard it. You were so small. But your eyes were so big. You grabbed my nose and you made the sweetest little noises, it sounded like you were trying to sing. We could never find your birth parents. You finished out the tour with us. Tex the roadie was your first babysitter. Your first crib was a box of tour t-shirts. We would bring you onstage at the end of each concert and you would always reach for the microphone. Even then you wanted to be a frontman. After the tour ended I took you home to the jungle.”

Vince curled in on himself. 

“Why’d you send me away?”

“You needed an education. I was not qualified to homeschool you and there are very few tutors willing to relocate to the jungle.”

“Howard said I got passed from foster home to foster home.”

“Yes.”

“And that you never came to see me.”

“Yes.”

There didn’t seem to be much else to say.

Vince dug around in the box. He pulled out a CD.  _ Bach Beauty.  _

“What’s this?” 

“Your brother, Colto the deaf horse. He asked me to give that to you. It’s very good. Innovative. Reminds me of Phillip Glass.”

Vince had no idea who Phillip Glass was but that seemed completely irrelevant next to the revelation that he had a brother. A deaf horse! How cool was that?

Vince could never stay down for long. 

“I gotta brother?”

“You have many siblings. There’s Colto of course. One of the Sprouse twins but for the devil of me I can’t figure out which one, Nib Lickbinder the narcoleptic starfish, Mike, T-Rex the kitten, Daisy Mae Dupree the bat, Klaus the corn snake, Mars Jooneyboy the crying guppie, all incredibly talented musicians, all formed their own bands, then a rather large super-band called the Children of Ferry.”

“Wow! Am I in that as well?”

Bryan bit his tongue between his teeth. He wiggled his fingers. He looked uncomfortable.

“Not. Exactly.”

“But I’m a musician too. Ain’t I? Howard and I gotta band.”

“You do. Yes.”

“What’s the problem then? Children of Ferry? I’m a child of Ferry.”

“Vince as we told you at the time-”

“I don’t fuckin’ remember do I?”

“It’s not a good fit.”

“Seems like I’d fit in great. I’m a child of Ferry. I play music.”

“But what you do, it’s not exactly music is it?”

“Wot you mean!” Vince squawked. “I listened to some of our stuff. It’s dead cleva- Howard really-”

“No, what I mean is that what  _ you do  _ isn’t really music. Howard is quite the talented musician, but you just sort of get up there and howl-”

“I’m one a’ the great frontmen, that’s what Howard told me.” 

Well, Howard had told him that he often called himself one of the great frontmen but he did not have time for semantics.

“You are not one of the great frontmen. I had high hopes for you of course, but what I actually said was that you had the potential to be one of the great frontmen, if you’d focused instead of scattering in a million directions.”

Vince’s indignation wilted into shame.

“More concerned with how you looked than musicianship. Even now you can only half play 2 instruments, not proficient at a one, and always so concerned with whether people liked you.” 

Vince stared at the floor, his shoulders hunched, bracing up against the torrential downpour of Bryan’s words.

“Not even whether they liked the music. No. Whether they liked you. Real artists aren’t concerned with whether people like them. When Colto showed me his third album, I told him I liked it. He told me to fuck off. Does that sound like someone who’s concerned with other people’s opinions? I never said you were one of the great frontmen.”

Vince hid behind his hair.

“But you got it stuck in your head. And have been stubbornly repeating it ever since. You’ll never be a great frontman.”

Xxx

Howard had been very good. He hadn’t pressed his ear to the door to hear what Vince and Bryan were talking about in the bedroom even though he desperately wanted to. 

Naboo very discreetly watched the proceedings through the eyes of a literal fly on the wall. Disconcertingly his eyes had been replaced by literal fly eyes. 

But the voices slowly grew louder. Agitated. Howard leaned forward, as if it would make any difference. When he heard his own name come up he snuck over and pressed his ear to the door.

He heard Bryan’s rant to Vince about his lack of focus and neediness. 

When he heard Bryan say “You’ll never be one of the great frontmen” he couldn’t take it anymore. He burst through the door and punched Bryan in the nose, knocking the man (who was bizarrely the exact same height and build as him) to the ground.

“Howard!” Vince shot to his feet. He buried his hands in his hair, his eyes darting between Bryan and Howard.

Bryan sat up.

“Get out of here,” Howard spat. 

Bryan probed at his rapidly swelling nose. “Yes. You’re right. That’s for the best. Goodbye Vince. I’m sorry.”

All Vince could manage was a nod. His eyes even wider than usual and darting all around. He wrapped his arms around himself.

Bryan exited the room. Bollo grabbed him by the arm.

“I see you out. We have talk.” Bollo said.

“I have it,” Bryan said. Bollo didn’t let go. “I said I have it!”

They heard Bryan tromping down the hall and down the stairs. 

Howard turned to Vince. “Little man?”

Vince hunched over, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, turned slightly away from Howard. White knuckles showed where he gripped the sides of his shirt. Trying to hold himself together. 

Howard reached out to pat his shoulder and Vince shrank away.

Xxx

He couldn’t let Howard touch him. He’d break into a million pieces if Howard touched him.

Xxx

For the first time Howard knew what it felt like to want to offer comfort to someone who didn’t want to be touched. He felt useless, desperate. Vince was in pain. He was so close, but Howard couldn’t do a damn thing.

Xxx

Vince wrapped his arms ever tighter around himself. He held his breath. Another old habit. If he ever felt like crying he would hold his breath, but eventually he always had to let the breath out and with it came the tears. 

He wasn’t going to cry. All he did was cry. At the very least he was going to be alone to do it.

“Can you leave please?” Vince thought his voice sounded pretty good considering he wasn’t breathing.

Xxx

Vince’s voice sounded terrible. Choked and miserable.

Howard missed taking care of Vince. He didn’t realize just how much he missed it. But if he was going to convince Vince to rely on him he was going to need to prove he could be there for Vince.

So he said, “No.”

“Please. Howa-”

Desperate gasp.

“Howard. I- c-c-c-”

Xxx

What he couldn’t seem to spit out was “I can’t hold it anymore.” 

He’d been trying so hard. To be strong. To not be a problem. To make everyone like him. To be as little trouble as possible. He wanted Howard to love him. But at every turn he was completely falling to pieces. He thought this was the meltdown that would finally send Howard screaming to the hills. Sorry mate, you’ve cried every day for two weeks straight, all a bit much idn’t it? 

He couldn’t hold it anymore. And Howard wasn’t leaving. He was going to see. He was going to know how much trouble he was. And come to the inevitable conclusion he wasn’t worth it. 

His knees unhinged and he sat crumpled on the floor. He covered his face with his hands, sobbing. Howard sat down beside him and pulled Vince into his lap. Vince buried his face in Howard’s shoulder. 

Eventually Vince cried himself out, and all that remained were small hitching little breaths. He felt wrung out like a flannel. Limp. A bit light headed. 

Howard ran his fingers through his hair and it felt so nice. So soothing.

Vince tilted his chin up to look at Howard. Howard smiled down at him.

“Feeling better little ma-”

Vince cut Howard off with a kiss. Passionate. Desperate. A bit soggy.

Howard froze then kissed him back, opening his mouth slightly, then Vince slid his tongue into Howard’s mouth. The kiss warmed him down to his toes. The kiss didn’t magically repair the pieces of his heart that Bryan had just snapped off, but it did make him think that maybe his chipped heart had character, rather than just being ugly. 

Howard ran through a set of orchestrated moves that let Vince know he’d been thinking about this for quite some time. What he’d do if he got to kiss Vince. Run his fingers through Vince’s hair. Three light pecks on the neck. One kiss directly on the flat plane of his nose. Biting at Vince’s lips. Knowing that Howard had a plan, that he’d thought about it enough to make a plan, made the kissing just so much better in Vince’s opinion. 

Vince grabbed both sides of Howard’s face, kissing him deeper and deeper and deeper until Howard pulled away.

Vince tried to follow him, but Howard held him back, bracing him with a locked arm.

Vince whined and lunged forward again but Howard held fast.

“Vince. This isn’t-you wouldn’t-if you were yourself you wouldn’t want this. We. We weren’t in a good place before you lost your memories.”

“I am myself.”

“No you’re not.”

“But I’m here! I’m me! I’m the only Vince you got.”

Vince did his best to ignore the look of pain that statement brought to Howard’s face. He knew it. He knew he wasn’t enough. He’s so stupid. He’s a blank. Of course Howard wanted the real Vince. Not a blank with Vince’s face.

Vince climbed off Howard. “Sorry,” he said.

Sorry I’m such a wreck. Sorry I’m making this harder. Sorry I’m not him.

Xxx

Howard had wanted this, to kiss Vince, for so long. There’d been the brief incident at his birthday a couple years previous, but he knew that was circumstance pushing them together, nothing true behind it. Not like he knew there could be. He’d wanted to kiss Vince since he was 17 years old, when he’d realized he was irrevocably in love with his best friend.

_ Howard had been after Vince for weeks to show him the project he was working on, but Vince would just flash him a coy smile. This frustrated Howard greatly as Vince had never been coy in his entire life and now everywhere he turned were coy smiles and trailing words and not so subtle innuendos. Vince wouldn’t even tell him what kind of project it was. A musical project? A painting? Another sodding Charlie book? What was it? _

_ Finally Vince announced the project was ready and all would be revealed on Saturday.  _

_ So Howard dutifully showed up at the park on a brisk fall morning. Vince was already there sprinkling birdseed on the ground and chittering with the birds that flew in to eat. His back was turned. Howard hung back for a moment. Vince was very different when he didn’t have an audience. His smile wider, his movements more explosive and enthusiastic.  _

_ Vince turned and spotted him. He jogged over. _

_ “Alright, Howard,” he said, smiling. _

_ “So what have you pulled me out here for? When I should be at home watching Mindhorn?” Mindhorn was a daft cop show Howard was inexplicably daffy for. The only people besides Howard who gave a shit about it were the occupants of the Isle of Mann and only then because it was the only show set there. Due to its lack of popularity it had a completely rubbish time slot.  _

_ Vince went to grab Howard’s arms. Howard jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” _

_ “Fine, but you gotta stand exactly where I tell ya, otherwise it won’t look right,” Vince said. _

_ He pointed to a point on the ground. Howard walked over. Vince kept adjusting him. An inch this way. No too far you great northern berk. Now turn to the right, but your head to the left. 8 degrees. No EIGHT! Finally, he was either satisfied or could see Howard’s amusement was turning into annoyance. _

_ “Okay. Don’t move a muscle.” _

_ While Vince had been putting Howard into position more and more birds came to eat the seed Vince scattered all over the ground. _

_ Red ones and blue ones and white ones and brown ones and black ones. _

_ Vince stood as close to Howard as humanly possible without touching him then whistled loudly. All the birds looked up at him. Watching him.  _

_ Vince whistled more and the birds tweeted back.  _

_ Then Vince’s whistle and the birds tweets wove together into a song. Howard recognized it. One of the few songs he and Vince both liked. Somebody to Love by Queen. Then the birds took flight. They moved in time to the music they and Vince were making. The birds formed two large rings, an inner and an outer. The birds flew in opposite directions. The inner ring clockwise and the outer ring counter counterclockwise, Vince whistled a higher note and the birds changed directions. Vince whistled some more and the rings burst apart then reformed. _

_ It was incredible. Vince had spent weeks teaching the bird’s a Queen song. Or maybe they already knew the Queen song. Howard didn’t know what birds were into. He’d taught them choreography. But for what?  _

_ “Come one Howard!” Vince yelled. He grabbed Howard’s hand (and Howard didn’t object). He whistled a few more notes and an opening in the rings appeared then he and Howard were in the middle of the swirling vortex of birds.  _

_ Vince turned to Howard. His face bright and open. He looked so beautiful. With his cheap drugstore mascara and ripped jeans he’d carefully sewn back together with silver thread.  _

_ “Brilliant, ain’t it Howard?” _

_ Howard nodded. _

_ Vince licked his lips. “There’s somethin’ I need to tell you. Somethin’ important.”  _

_ A red feather dropped onto Vince’s blond hair and just stayed there. Howard had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. _

_ Instead, he picked the feather from Vince’s hair, he smoothed it between his fingers, then ran out of the circle of birds. Taking a cardinal to the face. A sparrow pecked at his hand and a few of the birds followed him, squawking indignantly.  _

_ As he ran away he heard Vince yelling at one of the birds “Shut up! No, I don’t know what went wrong! I thought he’d like it.” Vince’s vice was all thick the way it always got before he started crying. _

_ Howard stopped running and turned back around. He hid behind a tree, waving away a particularly aggressive starling who was not ready to forgive the perceived slight.  _

_ Vince sat down crosslegged in the grass. A couple birds landed on his slumped shoulders. Another landed on his knee. He wasn’t fully crying, but he wiped an errant tear from his eye every once in a while as he spoke with the birds.  _

_ Howard left after that. It was a private moment between Vince and his friends. And he had a lot to think about.  _

It was the first time he acknowledged he had those kinds of feelings for Vince. The first time he realized that Vince might possibly return those feelings. And he massively fucked it up. It wasn’t the last time he hurt Vince by panicking when his dreams got too close to coming true, it wasn’t the worst, it was just the first. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the kiss. Dark Zoo times. And more Baby Boosh!

Vince was in love with Howard. He had no way of knowing this but he always had been and he certainly always would be. Howard was smart and kind and funny. He liked Howard’s jokes. He liked Howard’s cuddly shape. He liked the face he made when he was reading, with a very studious cocked eyebrow. He liked the way Howard smelled like autumn and books. He liked his chocolate honey eyes and his messy curls. He could go on all day about all the things he loved about Howard. He wished he had his memories so he could remember their time together. He felt like he was getting a late start and even if he stayed with Howard the rest of his life he’d never get enough of him. 

Howard sat in front of him looking absolutely miserable. Vince would do anything to wipe that look off Howard’s face, but he was the one who put it there by kissing him, by not being who he was supposed to be. 

“I’m so sorry,” Vince said.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I guess I’m apologizing for old me. Since he can’t do it. I’m sorry I was selfish. I took away our chance of ever being together by getting rid of all my memories. I’m gone now and you’ll never love the new me like you did the old one. I’m so sorry.” 

“I do love you Vince. I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” Howard said.

Now Vince felt confused. “But you won’t kiss me.”

“Because it wouldn’t be right.”

“Because you love old Vince more.”

“No. It’s not-I’ve told you. There is no old Vince. There’s just you.”

Vince had his doubts about that and he didn’t think Howard really believed it either. 

It’s true. You’re different now,” Howard said.

Vince looked absolutely shattered by this and Howard rushed to reassure him.

“But you’ve changed before. You’re not the same wild thing you were in the jungle with Bryan. You’re not the same stroppy teenager you were when we were at school. Everyone changes. Show me one person who hasn’t changed over the course of their lives and I’ll show you a deeply disturbed individual. Okay, so yours was a rather large change and it happened all at once, but it’s still you. Vince. You’re still you.” 

Vince rubbed his upper arms, giving himself a hug. 

Howard continued. “But you don’t have all the information. Helping you. Taking care of you. It’s when I’m at my best. But I haven’t taken care of you like this in a long time. Things were wrong between us, and getting worse all the time. You need to know everything. And if you still want to be together after you have all the facts then that would make me incredibly happy. But you have to have all the facts. Do you understand?”

Vince nodded. Then yawned. It had been quite an emotionally exhausting day with the disastrous meeting with Bryan and finally getting to kiss Howard, even if it was far too brief.

“Alright little man,” Howard said, “to bed with you.”

“But Howard it’s so e-e-” Vince gave another jaw cracking yawn, “early.”

“Just for a few hours.”

Vince still looked doubtful.

“I’ll lay with you for a bit. Until you go to sleep.”

Vince brightened at this. “Oh, well, alright then.”

Howard smirked at Vince’s easy acquiescence then led Vince to their room. 

They laid down on the bed and Vince was a bit disappointed when Howard constructed a complicated pillow barrier between them but he could still feel Howard’s movements as he shifted around and within moments he was asleep.

Xxx

Once Vince was asleep Howard sat up. He had a lot of work to do. 

The work was going to be painful but it would be worth it if, in the end, he and Vince could be together. He walked over to his desk and got out one of his old notebooks and a biro. At the top of the page he wrote “Vince Noir and Howard Moon’s Top 10 Fights”. He wrote the number one. Hesitated. He wasn’t ready to start at number one. He added a zero. There. He’d start at number 10 and work his way up to number one. It made much more sense.

He completed the list in short order but the number 1 slot was still blank. He couldn’t quite bring himself to write the number 1 item. The worst fight they ever had. The moment when things started to go sour between them. And it was all Howard’s fault. 

Howard folded the list and stuck it in his pocket. He moved to the kitchen to make dinner. It was still relatively early and he thought Vince would probably be ravenous when he woke up, he hadn’t eaten anything all day, too excited for Bryan’s arrival.

Bryan. That blue eyebrowed berk. How dare he make Vince feel so small. Howard was chuffed he’d punched the arsehole in the face. He would have done a lot worse if it wouldn’t have upset Vince. 

Howard needed to calm down. His mum had always told him “Don’t cook angry. The bitterness seeps into the food.” He flipped through his records and settled on Billie Holiday. He put it on with the volume very low so the music wouldn’t drift into their bedroom and play havoc with Vince’s allergies. 

After years of doubting the validity of Vince’s allergies, Howard had decided to run an experiment with Vince when Vince had expressed interest in Howard’s music a few days previous. He’d always suspected Vince’s allergies were psychosomatic and he’d developed a jazz allergy just to spite Howard. Now was his chance to prove that theory out. Howard had a feeling Vince was trying to get one over on the person he sullenly referred to as Old Vince by listening to Howard’s music, and while Howard hadn’t wanted to encourage the disconnect and resentment between Vince and his former self, he couldn’t resist the urge to perhaps get Vince interested in jazz, and he was awfully curious to see if Vince was half as allergic as he claimed. Vince had nodded gamely along with the record Howard had selected,  _ Raindrop Shoes _ by the Resse’s Pieces Nieces. By the second track he was sneezing constantly. He tried to tell Howard how “interesting” the record was, but his throat was rapidly closing. Howard put on some Gary Numan to take the swelling down and would never doubt Vince’s allergies again.

Billie’s voice curled around him like a fuzzy blanket as he made dinner. He’d bought a nice chicken and he got to work on preparing it. He loved cooking. It made him happy to feed people. He may not be the greatest writer, photographer, poet, action man, window painter, bassoon player, ham radio operator, horseback rider, tango dancer, model plane builder, or actor, but he was a damn fine cook. Even Naboo and Bollo liked his food, and their favorite pastime was identifying Howard’s many faults and failings. 

He rubbed garlic, olive oil, and lemon juice all over the chicken. He stuck a rinded lemon and whole cloves of garlic inside the chicken, then sprinkled the entire affair with parsley. He put the chicken in the oven and got to work on some side dishes. He roasted some corn in a pan with olive oil then sprinkled it with a light dusting of chili powder and a creamy mexican cheese. He halved a loaf of french bread, spread it with butter and garlic, and set it aside. He would toast it in the oven once the chicken was out and resting. He threw together a simple salad with the only dressing Vince would tolerate, a raspberry vinaigrette. Then he set to work on dessert. Little lavender cakes with earl grey infused buttercream. 

He hummed along with the music. He wore the apron Vince had made him one year for his birthday. It was a deep chocolate brown with grey paisley pockets. It was very Howard, but Vince never could resist adding a little Noir touch and so it had magenta sequins on the strings. 

Howard heard the floorboards creak by their bedroom. He turned around and Vince stood at the entrance to their room. 

“Alright little man?” Howard asked. He walked over to the record player, to turn it off before Vince broke out in hives, but Vince held up his hand.

“No. Leave it,” he rubbed his throat and checked his hands for hives, “I think this is okay. Her voice. It’s so beautiful.”

Howard’s mustache twitched as he smiled. “Yes it is.”

Vince sat and watched Howard finish cooking their dinner. 

Howard set a steaming plate of food in front of Vince. “Tuck in,” he said, smiling. 

Vince did not need to be told twice. He tore into the food like the little wild thing he once was. 

“Hrgfhu, thsif buhnb,” Vince said with his mouth full.

Howard had plenty of experience translating for Vince when his mouth was full and so he knew Vince had said “Oh my God Howard, this is so good.” 

Howard ate as well but mostly he just enjoyed watching Vince eat. Vince had quite a complicated relationship with food and while Howard would never be happy that Vince’s memories were gone he certainly would not miss Vince’s hangups about food and his fretting over his constantly yo-yo-ing weight. 

Vince polished off four of the cakes then settled back in his chair.

“Get enough to eat?” Howard asked.

Vince nodded. “Cheers Howard. That was brilliant.”

“What do you want to do now?”

Vince got a very serious look. “I think it’s time we get down to business.”

This caught Howard off guard. “What business?”

Vince looked at him like he was completely dense. “If we’re going to be snogging by Halloween-”

Howard didn’t remember there being any sort of deadline and was about to attest to that but Vince cut him off with a look.

“-and we will be,” Vince said severely. “Then we’ve got some serious work to do. I need the facts. And you’re gonna give em to me.”

“You’re relentless you are,” Howard said, “Haven’t we done enough today? Changed outfits 800 times? Sparked a family feud? Ate dinner? Wouldn’t it be better to wait until tomorrow before we...get down to business?”

“Howard. Do you love me?”

Vince asked the question like he knew the answer, but Howard could see there was a tiny spark of fear that he’d gotten everything wrong. 

“Yes. I love you Vince.”

“And do you believe I love you?”

Howard hesitated. He knew Vince loved a version of him.

Vince jabbed a finger like Howard’s hesitation was a physical thing he could point at. “See? This is the problem. You’ll never believe me when I say I love you until you tell me all the things you seem so sure will change my mind. So you get to walk around knowing that I know you love me. But do I get to enjoy knowing that you know that I love you?”

“There must be something wrong with me because that actually made sense,” Howard said. 

“So let’s crack on!” Vince said. “Do you worst.”

Oh little man, Howard thought, you’re going to regret saying that.

Howard sat Vince down on the couch. He told Vince to stay there while he went into the bathroom to collect himself. He splashed water on his face. He needed to brace himself. There was probably going to be a lot of touching right around the corner, comforting and hugging and the like, and he did not want to fuck up by yelling “don’t touch me!” when Vince was upset. Which he would be. Because the stories he planned to tell Vince were absolutely horrible. And he hadn’t even told Vince about his issues with touch yet. As far as Vince knew, Howard was a bit jumpy but ultimately fine with the amount of physical contact they’d been having. That he was fine with the hand holding, shoulder bumping, and hugging they’d been doing for the last week and a half. But the old feelings were starting to bubble up again. He couldn’t afford a melt down at the wrong moment and wreck their chances. He gave himself a peremptory chinese burn. Just to take the edge off. Then came out of the bathroom and sat down next to Vince. 

They’d had hundreds of fights over the years. Howard was of the opinion that in order to have a fight with a friend you had to trust them immensely. You had to trust that they would still be there after the fight was over. That they thought the fight was worth having. A strong relationship could withstand many fights, but the fights on his list were the ones that came closest to breaking them. The ones that did structural damage.

_ Vince distributed millet to all the tiny animals in their hutches at the zoo. It was generally his favorite part of the day, but his shoulders were hunched. His gaze, downcast. Howard trailed after him. Berating him. They’d almost lost an ocelot that morning. The zoo veterinarian said the ocelot had a bad reaction to receiving the wrong food and had come very close to dying. _

_ “You always make me feel so stupid!” Vince said. He stuffed the scoop back into the bag. _

_ “That’s because you are stupid!” Howard roared. “How many times do I have to tell you? Feed the ocelots from the blue bin! Their stomachs can’t handle the other food. You almost killed Castro!” _

_ He knew that would hit home. Castro was Vince’s favorite ocelot.  _

_ “It weren’t me!” Vince said.  _

_ Typical. Never taking any responsibility. Who left the gate to the zebra pen open? It weren’t me! Who left the hose on the footpath for anyone to trip over? It weren’t me! Well this time he’d gone too far. They’d almost lost one of the animals and that was where Howard drew the line. Best mate or not. _

_ “Vince. I don’t think this is working out.” _

_ Vince goggled at him. “Wot?” _

_ “You’re a good keeper. The animals love you, but I think it’s too much responsibility. There’s a lot to keep track of-” _

_ “You’re sacking me?” _

_ “I’m head zookeeper. It’s my job to look out for the animals.” _

_ “I look out for the animals. I take good care of the animals. You can ask any of them!” _

_ “I can’t ask them, now can I, Vince.” _

_ “See! I’m an asset. I can talk to animals.” _

_ “Other zoos do manage to get by without a Mowgli in flares.” _

_ “One time. I fed the animals wrong one time, on my second day. And you’ve never forgotten it. What if it was someone else? Did you even consider that? That someone else gave Castro the wrong food?”  _

_ “Oh right. Sure. There’s some other illiterate around here who can’t read a feeding schedule.” Howard said with a decidedly nasty dismissive tone.  _

_ Vince froze. Howard could only see the back of his head but already knew the expression Vince had, the too big eyes welling up, the surprised little gasp of hurt. He’d gone too far. _

_ “I can read!” Vince shrieked, whirling on Howard and giving him a gigantic shove. Due to the size difference he basically bounced off. He shoved him again. His face was screwed up and red. Angry tears streaking his face.“You know I can! I-I finished that book l-last week and you said you were p-p-p-” _

_ “Proud of you,” Howard finished. And he had been so very proud of Vince. He knew how hard reading and schoolwork were and that no one bothered to notice Vince had dyslexia until the year before he left school. Howard read a couple books about dyslexia and came up with some strategies so Vince would have an easier time reading all of the charts and reports and schedules that were part and parcel for the job of zookeeper. As they worked together, Vince had grown more confident. He’d read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory all on his own. It wasn’t exactly a doorstopper, but Vince had never voluntarily read anything in his life. Every day he would excitedly run up and tell Howard what had happened. How cool it was that books could have well decent stories in them instead of the boring stuff Howard was always reading. Howard had squeezed his shoulder and told him he was so proud of him.  _

_ “I’m sorry little man. You’re right. You’ve been making amazing progress.” _

_ Vince’s shoulders relaxed a bit. He unclenched his fists and took a few shuddering breaths. _

_ Howard stepped forward. “You just have to be more careful-“ _

_ “You still don’t believe me?” Vince said, if anything he seemed even more upset that Howard didn’t believe him. “I didn’t do it. I swear.” _

_ Howard sighed. “Fine. You didn’t do it.” From his tone it was evident he was saying it just to placate Vince.  _

_ They later found out it was Fossil who’d given the ocelot the wrong food. He never fed the animals and so that was why Howard hadn’t suspected him to start with.  _

_ Howard apologized, Vince forgave him with a big smile, but the damage was done and Vince’s confidence in his reading ability was completely shattered. It broke Howard’s heart every time Vince sidled up to him and asked him what a word on the chart said and when Howard told him what it was he’d breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks Howard, just wanted to be sure.” Howard never saw Vince read anything but fashion and music magazines since and he sort of suspected Vince didn’t read those either. Just looked at the pictures.  _

Howard finished the story. 

“Wow,” Vince said softly, “That explains a lot. I thought it was a side effect of the potion. I’d try to read summat and the letters kept getting flipped around. It was drivin’ me mad. But if I got dyslexia. Well, that sorta makes me feel better.”

Xxx

This was going to be a lot harder than Vince thought. If this was the tenth worst fight he was a bit shocked they hadn’t gone Sid and Nancy on each other years ago.

He’d been looking through his old music magazines, so he was getting up to speed on pop culture references like Sid and Nancy. The old magazines were close to falling apart from heavy use. Not just from where Vince had taken scissors to them to steal pictures for an elaborate rock collage/fashion moodboard that took up an entire wall in their bedroom, but they were also dog-eared, underlined, and highlighted. Howard had underestimated him again. Vince did still read, just not around Howard. 

Vince splashed around in his mind tank to find a way to put a positive spin on the story Howard had just told him. Howard had been terrible to him, no mistake. Belittled him. Called him stupid. Almost fired him from the zoo. But an animal almost died and Howard cared deeply for animals even though they didn’t care deeply for him. The same Howard who said he was illiterate was the same one who’d danced with him to David Bowie was the same one who called him little man and baked him little cakes. At least Howard had helped him read to begin with. He could focus on that.

His mind seized on the direction with relief. 

“Do you still have any of the books about dyslexia?” Vince asked. “Maybe you could help me again?”

“Is that really what you want to know right now?”

Vince nodded.

“Vince. I can see the wheels spinnin’, of course I’ll help you if you like, but I know that wasn’t the takeaway.”

Vince shook his head.

“Come on,” Howard said, “Papa Howard’s honesty hour is in session.”

“Do you still think I’m stupid?”

Xxx

Howard took Vince’s hand. He rubbed it, pressed it to his lips.

“No. I do not. You’re just a different kind of smart.”

“That’s a load a’ bollocks. People only say that to make stupid people feel better.”

“Vince. I’m telling you the truth. There are different kinds of intelligence-”

“If you say I’m street smart I’m walkin’.” 

Howard couldn’t help it. He laughed. “No. You’re not street smart. You tried to walk to Boots in your stocking feet. But you are smart. You see how things go together. Things no one else would imagine working but you see it all in your head and bring it to reality. You know that mirror ball suit hanging in your closet?”

Vince nodded.

“You made that. You designed it and made it yourself. You called it a major breakthrough on the sewing machine.”

Howard stood. He tapped a painting hanging on the wall. It was a portrait of Elvis done in blue with bold black outlines. Elvis was crying banana tears. 

“You see this? You painted this. And a lot more than that. You’ve got your BTEC in art and another in fashion design. Your imagination is boundless. You’re brilliant and I regret every day I made you feel stupid.”

Vince drew his knees to his chest and hugged them. “Can you-would you tell me a nice story? A happy one?”

Howard smiled and sat down next to Vince again. “Oh yes. There are plenty of happy ones.”

_ Sixteen year old Howard Moon sat in a papasan chair in his neat bedroom. He was trying to write a song about his friendship with Vince but every lyric and note made it sound like Howard fancied him. Which was just NOT the case.  _

_ Vince laid on the floor on his stomach, drawing a picture of David Bowie and himself holding hands.  _

_ Frustrated, Howard threw his guitar on the bed , making the strings clang in indignation.  _

_ Vince looked up from his sketchbook. “Oi! What Melinda ever do to you?” _

_ Howard was in no mood for nonsense. “Who’s Melinda?” _

_ “Your guitar.” _

_ “You don’t get to name my guitar. That’s part of the sacred bond between a man and his instrument. You don’t name another man’s guitar, boat, or car.” _

_ “What about another man’s bicycle?” _

_ “You’d be on very thin ice.” _

_ “Alright, what’s your guitar’s name then?” Vince pushed himself up off the floor and into a sitting position. _

_ Every idea for a good guitar name promptly flew out of Howard’s head.  _

_ “Um.” He picked the guitar up off the bed. He ran his fingers over her frets. He didn’t notice the great interest with which Vince watched his hands as he stroked the guitar’s neck.  _

_ The guitar was a beauty. Blond wood. Sparkling iridescent inlay. It was an acoustic. Amplifiers were banned by supreme decree of Howard’s mother. When he and Vince had been 11 and 9 respectively they had decided to do an experiment to produce the loudest sound they could. They took Howard’s father’s guitar and amplifier and set them up in the garage. Then they laid the microphone from a pink sparkly karaoke machine, Vince had somehow come into possession of, right in front of the amplifier. They cranked both machines up as high as they would go. Then Howard played what he expected to be a searing power chord, but really just produced feedback so sharp and loud he and Vince couldn’t hear anything for hours. They certainly didn’t hear the police sirens as someone had called the bobbies complaining of the “biggest bloody racket” they’d ever heard. Howard’s mother promised the officers that her son and his friend would not disturb the peace again. From that day onward amplifiers were banned from the Moon household.  _

_ Howard plucked at a few strings, Melinda. It kind of fit. Melinda. Nice name for a guitar, really.  _

_ As he mused he kept picking away at the strings, then he got absorbed and the notes melted into a melody.  _

_ Vince got very quiet. He loved watching Howard compose. Like he’d gotten lost in the song and had to write his way back out. It was so different than when he was (very serious voice) performing. Howard would play a few hesitant notes then the notes would merge together into a fragile and halting melody. Then something would snap into place in Howard’s brain and he’d play faster and faster, trying to get it all out before he lost it. Chasing the train he liked to call it. He’d chase the train. If he played it, then he would know it, but if the notes got away from him before he could pull them from his head and fling them into the vibrating air they’d be gone forever and he’d be in a right strop the rest of the day. Sometimes the rest of the week.  _

_ Howard finished the little tune. He looked at Vince and smiled. Vince clapped. _

_ “What you gonna call that one Howard?” _

_ “Melinda.”  _

Howard hadn’t played guitar in years, he’d come to favor the trumpet as his instrument of choice, but that night he pulled Melinda from her case. He silently apologized to her for his neglect. 

He sat on the arm of the couch and plucked a few hesitant notes. Vince stretched out on the couch and watched. Soon the hesitant notes melded into a rough melody. Something quiet and lovely and heartbreaking. When he finished, the last desolate note still echoing in the air, Vince asked what he was going to call that song.

Howard said, “Vince.” Because all of his songs sounded like they were about how he fancied Vince anyway, and he didn’t mind at all. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince gets a haircut and Howard gets drunk.

Vince thought very seriously about how to proceed with the list of fights. He told Howard that he thought the best way to proceed was to go through one bad story every couple days with lots of nice stories in between. Howard agreed. 

So every couple days he told Vince about one of their big fights like the aftermath of the Crack Fox, the Milky Joe fight, post birthday kiss fight, post Denmark fight, Vince had once spent all of their money on hair products (“non returnable hair products, or they damn well would be going back mark my words little man”) and so he and Vince had to sell both of their record collections to pay monthly protection fees to the hitcher, Howard laughed at an outfit Vince had been working on for months, Vince gave Howard a panic attack when he kept touching Howard when Howard begged him to stop. 

The measured pace left an awful lot of time to kill over the course of a couple weeks since they couldn’t kiss (which is what Vince would like to be doing). Howard told Vince lots of lovely stories as well. The time Howard protected Vince from a bully who wanted to beat Vince up for wearing a dress. How on sundays they liked to go to the local record stall together. The first time Howard bought Vince some makeup (he’d seen a lovely shade of pink lipstick that made him think of Vince’s neon t-shirts, Vince absolutely loved it and wore it every day for months until it ran out, he kept the tube-Howard didn’t know that part). The myriad times and myriad ways Vince had saved his life.

Howard also took Vince through the rest of the music they wrote together. Vince watched a couple videos of himself performing. “Oh Christy, I do just get up there and howl,” he said.

“Don’t do that,” Howard said, “Bryan is a brilliant musician, but he is not the be all end all of music. You have a haunting and compelling voice. He just doesn’t understand what we’re doing. It’s too deep and complicated. We’re after a new sound. And he if doesn’t want to try and understand what we’re doing then-”

“He said  _ you  _ were a good musician.”

“He did?” Howard tried not to sound flattered, but a little grin did creep across his face. He caught himself and slapped a serious frown on. “Well. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” 

Howard encouraged Vince to go through his things, something Vince had been quite hesitant to do. It felt like he was rummaging through someone else’s stuff, but he knew that these weird hangups were going to have to go at some point. It was his stuff after all.

So he asked if Howard would be alright minding the store without him for a few hours one afternoon.

Xxx

Howard did his level best to maintain a straight face as he assured Vince that yes he could manage without Vince for a few hours. Howard had not mentioned yet that before he lost his memories Vince often didn’t come down until 1 or 2 in the afternoon, he did not want to encourage that particular habit to come back, he liked having Vince in the store with him all day. 

Xxx

Vince waded into his closet, unsure where to begin. He crawled under his hanging clothes. Naboo must have rigged some sort of pocket dimension for him because instead of the wall he expected to find, the closet instead opened up into a cozy little room. Vince saw a light switch and when he flicked it on strings of fairy lights stretched across the ceiling glowed to life. The floor of the little pocket dimension was scattered with clothes and shoes and big fluffy pillows. Every available surface was spackled with stickers and pictures and posters. Cut outs from magazines, bits of fabric. The last of Vince feeling like an imposter was swept away. This room felt like the inside of his brain. He felt like himself for the first time in a long time. 

Vince knew Howard have never been here. For one, Howard definitely would have told him about it. And for another, “VN + HM 4eva” surrounded by a heart was spray-painted on one wall. He had a secret place. How genius was that?

He shoved some piles of clothes aside, trying to let muscle memory lead him. He found himself instinctively reaching under a sparkly gold pillow. There was a tin box. There was a strip of ancient masking tape acting as a label. “Propurty of Vince K. Noir, Stay out!!!” 

He opened the box. Inside he found a chewed up guitar pick, a dried up tube of bright pink lipstick, loose beads and sequins, jewelry, fabric scraps, and a toy car. 

He ran his fingers over the bits and bobs, the objects were meaningless to him, which made him sad. Maybe Howard would know what some of the little treasures meant. Sometimes Vince fantasized that he’d pick up some trinket and all of his memories would come flooding back like he was a princess in a cartoon. Or that he and Howard would kiss and that would bring his memories back. He knew Naboo would have told him if that was a possibility but he liked to think about it. It’d be well romantic. He’d remember how he and Howard met and what it was like working in a zoo and to go to an alien planet. Howard had told him some of their adventures but Howard mostly just captured the details that interested him, not those that would interest Vince, like what the aliens were wearing or what color the sky had been.

It would all come flooding back. Then he’d casually slip into conversation something he couldn’t know unless his memories were back then Howard would take him in his arms and dip him into a passionate kiss. He reflected that his fantasies were comparable with those of a teenage girl, nothing too risky or physical, just lovely kissing. He wondered if Old Vince got as squeamish thinking about sex as he did. He liked the idea of romantic things. Kissing, snuggling, holding hands, but when he thought about anything beyond that his face went red and his hands got a bit shaky. Something to worry about another time, for now he was happy.

He laid down on the soft floor, staring up at the ceiling. Pictures of him and Howard as kids. He liked little Vince’s cheeky grin and Howard’s overly serious furrowed brow. Pictures of Mick Jagger decorated to look like portraits of the Virgin Mary. Cutouts from magazines stuck together to create new outfits. There was always something new to catch his eye. He spotted a picture of Elvis that he rather liked, and got an idea.

The next day he told Howard he had a couple errands to run and was thankful when Howard didn’t ask what the errands were or whether he could accompany him.

Xxx

Intellectually Howard knew Vince was a grown man and could handle popping off to do some errands on his own, but it still made him uneasy. Vince was trusting by nature and, without the cockney bitch upbringing to temper it, Howard worried someone would take advantage.

He found himself glancing at the clock and was so disinterested in the lone customer that came in that they assumed he was playing hard to get and so they bought some elbow patches just to get some attention. It was a failed ploy. Howard managed to show off the stock, help the customer buy elbow patches that would go with their grey blazer, take payment, and bag the purchase all without once taking his eyes off the door.

Finally a couple hours after Vince left, the bell over the door rang and Howard looked up from where he had been dusting the counter one dust spec at a time.

At first his brain seemed to develop a short circuit. Because the person who walked through the door certainly looked like Vince. And dressed like Vince. He was carrying far too many shopping bags like Vince. But his hair was far too short for it to actually be Vince. His hair was short on the sides and long on top with the sideburns intact. He looked quite a bit like Elvis. 

Then the mysterious figure smiled at him and set down the shopping bags. “Alright Howard?”

“What did you do?” Howard said.

The smile promptly dropped from Vince’s face. His hand flew to his hair.

“You don’t like it?”

Howard had never, ever, EVER, seen Vince’s hair this short. When he and Vince met, Vince was already rocking the Rod Stewart look and he’d taken to growing it out ever longer before reluctantly trimming it back. Vince would hate this. He would absolutely hate it.

“Like it? No. I don’t like it. It’s-it’s all wrong it’s-he’d never-”

“Who’s he Howard?” Vince asked. “The real Vince? Is that who you’re talking about? Because you said I am the real Vince. That it was okay if I changed.”

“But not this!” Howard exploded. 

How could Vince not understand that his hair was an integral part of his personality. That the hair was sacrosanct? Half the house budget went to hair products. Vince spent hours on his hair. He said it was his best feature. And what had he done? He’d chopped it all off.

“This isn’t. It isn’t you. It isn’t Vince. It isn’t right!” Howard said.

“The first time! The first time I treat this body like it’s mine, that I’m not just babysittin’ til the real Vince gets back, and this is how you react.”

He thought it’d be okay. That he’d tell Vince the stories and eventually it’d feel like nothing had changed. This Vince looked exactly the same and eventually he would act exactly the same as long as Howard taught him the ancient art of Vince-ness. Because if Howard Moon couldn’t preserve Vince Noir, then who would. Who could? He was the foremost expert on Vince Noir. He had a doctorate in Vince Noir. But something had changed. Changed irrevocably, barring some miracle. Vince was fundamentally different now and the hair was simply the externalization of that fact. 

For the first time it really truly hit Howard. This was Vince. Try as he might, tell as many stories as he liked, but this Vince was different. The Vince he grew up with. The Vince he knew. He was gone.

Howard’s fingers tugged at his sleeve, until he couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt too much. He pushed up the sleeve of his rollneck and gave himself a chinese burn. Relishing the pain emanating across his skin as it distracted him from the much deeper pain in his heart.

“What you doin’!” Vince shrieked. He ran across the shop and grabbed Howard’s arm to stop the chinese burn in progress.

Howard’s whole body revolted against the contact.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He screamed. Then he abruptly turned and stalked up the stairs toward the flat, ignoring Vince screaming after him to “wait wait please, I’m sorry, just come back, wait!”.

Xxx

Vince flipped the sign on the shop to closed and locked the door. Then raced up the stairs. 

He didn’t understand why Howard was so upset. So he’d changed his hair? Judging off pictures he’d changed it loads of times. The black certainly wasn’t his natural color. True it had never been this short but he thought it looked good. And what business was it of Howard’s anyway? It was his hair and he’d do what he wanted with it. 

Then there’d been the business with the chinese burn. What was that all about? And since when did Howard not want to be touched? 

He needed answers.

Vince walked into the flat. “Howard!” He called. 

“Legged it out the window,” Naboo said from the couch. He and Bollo passed a hookah back and forth. The smell of the smoke was definitely suspect.

“He went out the window? To avoid seeing me?”

Naboo let out a gigantic cloud of smoke. “Yeah.”

“I like new haircut,” Bollo said.

“Thanks Bollo,” Vince said.

“I fink it’s a lateral move,” Naboo said.

“Thanks Naboo.”

Vince shifted on his feet for a moment. 

“I oughtta go and look for him,” he finally said, moving to head back downstairs.

“Just give him a bit,” Naboo said.

“Harold be fine,” Bollo agreed.

“Why don’ ya take a seat,” the tiny shaman said.

Vince hadn’t spent much time with Naboo and Bollo. He’d imprinted on Howard like a duckling and had barely interacted with anyone since Lance Dior. He said hello to them but that was about it. Maybe it was time for that to change.

Xxx

Well, he’d finally ruined it. It had only taken a month and Vince, New Vince, already hated him. Well done Moon. Well fucking done.

Howard sat bellied up to the bar at the Wayward Vicar. The barman set another brandy in front of him and Howard downed it without the customary smell and taste routine that always made Vince, the old Vince, roll his eyes. He tapped the bar, signalling for another. Soon he was going to have to switch to cheaper liquor, he wasn’t going to taste it anyway and he didn’t want to run out of money before he was completely shitfaced. 

Xxx

Vince sat wedged between Naboo and Bollo on the couch. Naboo offered him the hookah.

Vince briefly considered refusing, he wanted to be clear headed when Howard got back, but he knew this was a gesture on Naboo’s part, and it really would be nice to feel different than he did right then. So he took the nozzle and drew in some smoke.

He exhaled in a great plume.

“Oh,” Naboo said, sounding as close to surprised as he was capable, “you don’t usually take a hit that big.”

“How was I ‘sposed to know?” Vince asked.

“I gotta bad feeling ‘bout this.” Bollo said.

Vince looked deeply concerned.

“He says that about everything,” Naboo said. “Don’ listen to him. This ain’t even that strong. You’re gonna be fine.”

Naboo shook his head at Bollo without Vince seeing. He was lying. The shit was very strong indeed.

Xxx

Why didn’t he go pub more often? It was lovely there. The light was lovely. The smokey sticky atmosphere was lovely. The men with facial scars who kept looking at him and licking their lips were lovely. It was all lovely. He might just stay at the pub forever. 

“Right mate, you’re cut off.”

“Gwuhh?” Howard said. Which roughly translated to “My good sir, I demand you serve me another drink forthwith!”

The barman had taken drunken slurring as an elective in college so he knew exactly what Howard had said.

“You had enough.”

“Gububbu refgrh,” Howard said. Which roughly translated to “This is completely unacceptable. I know my limit and I have not yet reached it my good man.”

“You’re so past your bloody limit you can’t even see it in tha distance,” the barman said. 

“Fuh.” You can guess what that translates to.

“Right. You’re gone. Get outta here.”

“Grrrijhu dregghre, stublihun,” Howard said with as much dignity as he could muster while completely failing to put on his coat. Which roughly translated “Good night to you sir. I shan’t be darkening your doorstep again.”

With his coat on upside down Howard exited the pub.

Xxx

Naboo and Bollo were getting a bit concerned. Vince had not stopped talking for five minutes straight.

“And then the monkey rides the motorbike through the ring of fire, but it turns out it weren’t actually a monkey at all, it was a raccoon, and then the raccoon’s brother emerges out the audience and says you abandoned your family! Mam and Da’ needed yeh, and all you are is a damn carnie.” And the raccoon says to his brother “I’m a performer. I’m a bloody artist.” Then they get into a fight and it spills into the audience and it turns out both raccoons were rabid and so the entire circus and audience had to get treated for rabies.”

He had finally stopped talking.

Cautiously Naboo said, “You’re right Vince. That  _ would _ make a lovely children’s book.”

“I just came up with that.”

“I never would have guessed,” Naboo said. 

“You guys are genius,” Vince said. He laid an arm across Bollo. “Were we great friends? All of us?”

“Bollo more Vince’s friend than Harold’s.”

“Really? What did we do? What was it like?”

“We play table tennis. You paint pictures of me. You took care of me when I was sick. I give Harold knock on head when he be mean to you.” 

“What ‘bout you and me Naboo?” Vince asked.

“Generally you only came to me when you needed something.”

“Oh. I’m sorry Naboo. Naboo. Naboolio.” He giggled a bit. “Sorry. What were we- Oh right. Sorry Naboo. That was a bit rubbish.”

“It’s alright. Most the time you came to me because you had to save Howard. He was always gettin’ himself into some kinda trouble.”

“Did I save him a lot?”

“The majority of the time yeah.” 

“Still. That ain’t no way to treat your friends. I shoulda come to see ya just to chat.”

“Yeah well…” Naboo was a bit embarassed, “S’alright.” 

Vince gave Naboo a big hug. Naboo looked positively petrified.

“Bollo, get this ballbag offa me.” 

Bollo gently pried Vince off of Naboo, Vince laid his head on Bollo’s stomach. A smile twisted Bollo’s simian features. It good to have Vince back. 

Xxx

Well. Maybe an upstanding establishment such as the Wayward Vicar would not serve him, but there were plenty of places around that didn’t care if you were in a coma, they’d keep pouring you drinks as long as you kept sliding coin across the bar. Howard found such a place in the Shy Clown. 

Howard requested a whiskey with a bendy straw so he didn’t have to lift his head off the bar to drink. 

Either someone was spitting on his face. Or he was crying. Actually the answer was both. A nasty little crab toddler hybrid had escaped from the back (the owner’s nephew, what were you gonna do?) and was spitting in Howard’s face as Howard wept until the barman ushered the little monstrosity away and offered Howard a cocktail napkin and a “sorry, mate.” Howard was too far gone to notice any of this was happening or he would be dipping his face in boiling water to sterilize it. 

He couldn’t get his thoughts straight. Old Vince. New Vince. Cruel Vince. Funny Vince. Sweet Vince. Vince in a jumpsuit. Vince in a pale pink sundress. Vince with long black hair. Vince with short hair. Vince in his zoo uniform. Vince in one of his hand decorated t-shirts. They were all Vince. This was Vince. Vince was a many splendored thing. Vince probably hated him. Why wouldn’t he? Old Vince had hated him. It was only a matter of time before the new one did too. He’d just been delaying the inevitable. He was so weak. There was no way he’d be able to keep Vince. Not even when he was the entirety of Vince’s world. 

He gave himself a vicious chinese burn, not noting that the skin was already red and wealed. 

Vince was gone. He’d been replaced with a lookalike who no longer looked alike. This wasn’t Vince. Vince crimped and wore tall ridiculous shoes no matter how uncomfortable they were and wasn’t scared of anything. This Vince was scared of frogs and dolls and thunder and the ocean. Vince made fun of his clothes and let Bollo and Naboo say anything they wanted without standing up for him. This Vince sometimes stole Howard’s clothes and had yelled at Naboo when Naboo had called Howard a ballbag (Howard had explained it was practically a term of endearment; Vince apologized to Naboo). Vince rolled his eyes. Vince sung with the birds. Vince broke his things. Vince orbited around him like a satellite. Looked up at him adoringly, smiled at him, snuggled with him, loved him. He had to talk to Vince.

Xxx

“How has he gotten higher?” Naboo asked.

“Uh. While Naboo in bathroom Vince might have hit hookah again.”

“Oh well done, you batty crease. Look at the state a’ him!”

Vince tied his shoe with the utmost concentration, his tongue poking between his teeth. It wasn’t going well.

“Where you think you’re goin’ Vince?” Naboo said.

“Gotta find Howard. Tell him I’ll wear a wig until my ‘air grows back out.”

“He’ll be back. It’s only been-” Naboo glanced a the clock, did a double take, “six hours? Brian Christ this is good shit. We betta go find him. Bollo. Get the drunk leash.”

In moments they were downstairs. Vince wore a bright pink harness attached to a leash like a kiddie leash at a themepark, the leash was looped over Bollo’s wrist. Bollo held an identical blue harness in his other hand. Three guesses who it was for. Vince kept stumbling forward and Bollo kept reeling him back in. 

“Let’s go,” Vince whined.

“Alright, jus’ a second. Gotta cast a locator spell don’ I?”

Naboo mashed up the last of his good newt eye. Now he’d have to go back to the rubbish generic brand until the money from the patent lawsuit over Naboo’s miracle wax was settled with the Monkey of Death, who’d figured out the formula and mass produced it claiming it was his own invention, got over his gratitude fairly quickly that one did. 

Naboo dumped the mashed eyes into a bowl along with a couple of Howard’s hairs, the spit of an angry man, and some maltesers. He mixed the ingredients together then scooped the mixture out and drew an arrow on Vince’s hand. 

Vince’s arm raised of its own accord and pointed toward the door.

“Hey,” Vince said with dull surprise, staring at his arm. His finger jabbed at the door.

“Alright, that’s sorted,” Naboo said. “Let’s go.”

They walked down the street. Vince’s arm pointing them this way and that, leading them to Howard. Bollo kept Vince from getting too far ahead by yanking on the drunk leash every once in awhile. 

Xxx

How long had he been walking? He didn’t remember leaving the Shy Clown. He barely remembered arriving at the Shy Clown. Where was he. Nothing looked familiar. Howard patted his pockets. Damn he’d lost his wallet somewhere along the way. No way to pay a cab. He checked his phone, it was dead. 

After surfacing for an all too brief moment of coherency his brain sank back under the waves of drunkenness. 

Xxx

Vince’s arm directed them to go left, they turned left, they walked for a bit but then Bollo spotted something lying on the ground. He stopped suddenly to pick it up and Vince almost tipped over backwards.

“What ya doin’?” Vince demanded. “We gotta keep going.”

Bollo held out what he had picked up. Howard’s wallet.

Vince took it from him with one hand, since the other was still pointing forward insistently. Sure enough there was Howard’s driver’s license. Vince cackled at the terrible picture.

“Leas’ we know the spell’s workin’,” Naboo said, “We’re headed in the right direction.”

Vince ran in the direction his arm was pointing but then hit the end of his leash and fell over backwards. Bollo and Naboo were so absorbed in their conversation Bollo didn’t even feel his arm move.

“You think Howard alright?” Bollo asked, his usage of Howard’s correct name belied his concern. 

“Let’s see.” Naboo’s eyes rolled into the back of his skull.

Vince struggled back to his feet and made another big run, he was once again pulled over backward by the leash. 

Naboo’s brown eyes rolled into view. “I fink he’s alright, but not for long. We gotta move fast. Vince?”

Vince stood and dusted himself off. Brian Christ was he high. “Yeah?”

“Time ta run.” 

Vince nodded once then took off running. Bollo struggled to keep up. 

“Wait, Vince, need inhaler.” Bollo said, but Vince wouldn’t slow down. 

They cut through a park with Vince’s enchanted arm pointing them in the right direction. 

Xxx

All he wants to do is dance. Dance. Dance. He is the dancing queen. He’s the one! Vince could pull shapes, well Howard could pull anything, mostly his hamstring. His leg seized up on him and he crumpled but moments later the cramp loosened and he was back to dancing. 

Xxx

They were almost to the out of order fountain at the center of the park. The only thing moving was a mysterious figure undulating in the most disturbing way. Convulsing, retching, twisting and twitching all in a horrible rhythm.

Vince marched toward the figure shrouded in darkness his arm pointing straight at it.

Naboo didn’t like the look of the figure. It moved with dark energy. Or an appalling lack of dance ability. Either way he did not want a close encounter, but as he and Bollo moved around the figure Vince kept pointing at the figure. Vince lunged forward a couple times but he was already at the end of his leash so he didn’t get anywhere. His finger jabbed in the air toward the figure.

“Spell might be no good Bollo,” Naboo said. “We gotta find H-”

“Howard!” Vince screamed.

Naboo snapped his fingers and the area surrounding the fountain dimly glowed.

The mysterious figure was Howard. He danced with his eyes squeezed shut.

Vince screamed for Howard again, reaching desperately for him but still held back by the leash. 

Bollo unhooked the leash from the harness still around Vince’s chest and Vince ran and threw his arms around Howard. 

Howard did not open his eyes and did not stop dancing. Vince pressed kisses all over Howard’s face. 

Naboo turned away in disgust. “I did not need to see that.”

“Howard. Howard I figured it out. I found a box of me offcuts. I’ll just wear a wig until it grows back out. Okay Howard? Then it’ll be okay? Will it be okay Howard? Howard? Howard? Howard? Howard?” 

Howard still wouldn’t stop dancing.

“Why Harold not talk to Vince?” Bollo asked Naboo.

“They’re at completely different levels. That’s the problem. Vince is high. Howard’s drunk. They can’t communicate.”

“So what do?”

“Give Howard the gummi’s.”

“Bollo saving those for Glastonbury.”

“Now.”

Bollo sighed and fished a packet of weed gummi’s from Brian Christ knows where. He walked over to Howard. “Harold. Eat this.”

Howard nodded, but he didn’t stop dancing to the music only he could hear. He opened his mouth. Bollo briefly considered crushing Howard’s skull but instead set the cannabis sweet on Howard’s tongue like a eucharist. Howard chewed it up and swallowed, all without stopping his one man dance party. 

“Open your mouth Vince,” Naboo said.

Vince shook his head like a little kid. Naboo reached out and pinched Vince’s nose shut, forcing him to open his mouth, when he did Naboo stuck his flask in Vince’s mouth. Vince made a horrible face. 

“Drink your medicine,” Naboo said in a soothing voice, “there’s a good boy. Enjoy the Bacardi.”

Finally Vince and Howard were equally crossfaded so they were on the same wavelength. They spoke a slurring half singing half crying language that no one else could possibly understand. 

“There’s no way we can get both a’ them back to the flat walkin’. Call a cab. It’s comin’ outta Howard’s wages.”

Naboo and Bollo sat wedged in the front seat with the cabbie and gave Howard and Vince the back seat. They were a couple blocks from the flat when Naboo looked in the back and saw Howard and Vince sleeping in the back wrapped up in each other’s arms, Vince’s head pressed into Howard’s neck.

What a couple a’ ballbags. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all the wonderful people who have read and commented on this story. You guys are awesome! Here we are at the end!

Howard woke up in Vince’s bed. Vince’s hair may have been shorter but it still managed to find its way into his mouth anytime they shared a bed.

Shared a bed.

Shared a bed.

He and Vince were sharing a bed. They weren’t supposed to be sharing a bed. Howard was about to pull away but he felt Vince’s soft breathing brush across his skin and it felt so nice he couldn’t move. 

Vince slept with his head nestled under Howard’s chin. They were both clad only in their pants and vests. 

“Howard.” Vince murmured.

“Yes Vince?” Howard said so very softly. 

But Vince was still sleeping and he’d only been talking to the Howard of his dreams. 

Howard carded his fingers through Vince’s hair. His fingertips missed the extra length.

Vince always woke so slowly. He’d open his eyes. Then go back to sleep. Then he’d stare into the middle distance, but he was still asleep. His eyes would drift closed again. It was such a struggle for him to leave the land of dreams because it was his natural habitat. Forcing Vince Noir to live in the real world was like forcing a polar bear to live in Arizona. 

Howard took in every second while Vince slowly so slowly woke up. He traced the planes of Vince’s face. His flat nose. His high cheekbones. His prominent brow. The curve of his lips. He composed epics in his head to the dry flecks of mascara scattered under Vince’s eyes. 

Vince’s eyes fluttered open. He looked confused and troubled, then he sank back into sleep and the worry smoothed from his face. 

Howard treasured seeing that all too brief flash of blue up close. He had to. He was sure that once Vince woke up it would all be over and he’d never be so close to those eyes again. 

Vince rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Then he looked over and saw Howard and he gave Howard a smile that could rival the rising sun outside. Then he seemed to realize what he was wearing, noting that it was very little. He sat up and scooched away from Howard.

Howard knew Vince would be upset with him, but he seemed afraid, what if Howard had hurt him? He didn’t remember anything. What if Vince had lost his memories again? 

“Vince?” 

Vince drew his knees to his chest and hugged his arms around them. 

“Vince. Are you alright?”

Howard tried to sound as calm as possible.

“Did we. Did we um...I jus don’ remember much and uh, I mean we didn’t-”

Finally the lightbulb went off. Vince was worried that they’d had sex. Apparently Vince had been as intoxicated as he had been. But Vince wasn’t with him at the pub. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was being kicked out of the Wayward Vicar. How had he gotten home? 

Howard looked around the room looking for some answer to Vince’s question. All he had was a feeling. 

“No. I don’t think we did. I think there’d be some-uh-evidence, and I just don’t-it doesn’t feel like we did,” Howard said. 

Vince looked relieved. Howard understood. Vince didn’t want to have sex with someone he was planning on chucking for being a psychotic. 

“Thas good,” Vince said, chewing on his thumbnail, “I jus’, I dunno, whenever I think about...sex, I just, I get nervous. Like kissin’ and cuddlin’ are brilliant, but actually...I don’t think I’d like it.”

Vince rested his chin on his knees, looking impossibly young. He asked in a tiny voice, “D’you think I always felt that way? Or is it new?”

Howard cast his memory backwards. He knew Vince wasn’t a virgin. Vince had described the experience to him in great detail when Vince was 16 and Howard was 18, but even Howard could tell the enthusiasm was forced. Howard had always assumed it was because Vince was plagued by the same problem that troubled virgin’s the world over, he hadn’t lasted very long, but now Howard wondered. Vince had a couple more sexual partners, but only in longer term relationships that always seemed to sour shortly after they started having sex. He had two girlfriends and a boyfriend from the time he was 16 to the time he was 19 and no real relationships after that. Despite Vince’s reputation as the life of the party he never brought anyone back to the flat. Vince would kiss someone all night, but the instant someone tried to jam their hand down his pants he was back on the dance floor trying to find a new dance partner. 

“I can’t say for sure, but I think you’ve felt this way for a long time.”

Vince worried his lip with his tongue. “Is that okay?”

“Yes. Vince. Of course it’s okay. You don’t ever, ever, have to do something you don’t want to.”

“But don’t you think, eventually, you’re going to want to-”

Howard didn’t mention that in a little bit what he wanted wasn’t going to matter because Vince was never going to speak to him again.

“We’d figure it out Vince. Sex is just a part of a relationship. I love you. Every part of you. That will never change-”

Howard shook his head. His voice had gone all thick. His nose was getting stuffy. Always a sure sign he was about to start crying. He did not want to cry in front of Vince. 

Vince came over and hugged him from the back, his arms clasped across Howard’s chest. Howard tensed initially then relaxed, he gripped Vince’s forearms. Vince’s face was buried in his back. Vince couldn’t see him. Howard started sobbing. His back shuddered. Vince whispered calming nonsense into his back. He couldn’t hear what Vince was saying but could feel the soothing vibrations. 

After awhile Howard’s tears subsided. He wasn’t sobbing anymore. Just trembling. Biting his lip. Getting himself back under control. Vince loosened his grip on Howard, sat back on his heels on the bed and rubbed Howard’s back. 

“Talk to me Howard. Please talk to me.”

Vince sat down beside Howard, sideways with one foot up on the bed and the other just brushing the floor. 

After a long silence Howard finally spoke. His delivery was halting. 

“It’s strange. Like I’m grieving someone standing in front of me. So many people would k-kill to have what I have. People who have actually lost their someone.”

Xxx

“It ain’t a contest Howard. You’re allowed to be sad.”

“I think. I was keeping it locked up. You needed me. And I loved that you needed me. I needed you to need me. Everything goes wrong when you don’t need me anymore.”

Vince could see the fear in Howard’s eyes. Howard was absolutely petrified of this conversation. 

Vince tried to reassure Howard. “Of course I need ya Howard. I’ll always need ya.”

“No you don’t. Look at you. After only a month and you’re doing amazing. You don’t need me. And you didn’t before you lost your memories either. You decided a long time ago you didn’t need me. And you were right. I think I need to tell you about our worst fight.”

Vince backed away from Howard a bit. “But. We were gonna work our way up to it. Slowly. Gradually.”

“I think you need to hear it now.” Howard sniffled. “I love you Vince. You won’t love me after this. But I’ll always love you.”

Vince wanted to scream then don’t tell me! I don’t want to know! But he had to know. He had to prove to Howard that their love could withstand anything. Even whatever had broken them last time. Whatever it was. They were different now. It would be alright.

“We were going on holiday.”

Howard told Vince about the cabin. He told him about the yetis. Then he told him about Kodiak Jack and what Howard had done.

_ Vince paced the motel room. Too keyed up after his encounter with the yetis and his earlier encounter with Kodiak Jack to sleep. Howard sat on the edge of the bed, ostensibly taking off his shoes but he seemed to have given it up as a bad job. _

_ “That was mental!” Vince whipped his head around to look over at his friend. “Doin’ alright Howard?”  _

_ Vince bounced on the balls of his feet. That had really been a close one.  _

_ “Yeah. Uh-huh.” Howard replied faintly. _

_ “What were ya doin’ wanderin’ around by ya’self ya muppet?” Vince asked. _

_ Howard shrugged listlessly.  _

_ Vince rubbed his face. He felt like he was dancing on the edge of something, which was how he always felt when he was going to make a great intuitive leap that was almost invariably accurate. _

_ “What were ya doin’ Howard? Cause that nutter with all the scars showed back up while you was gone.” _

_ Howard flinched at that.  _

_ Vince leaped on this. His intuition howled for blood. He thought back to the cabin. There was something else. _

_ “Actually. He said you went for a walk. To leave us alone for awhile. Why would he say that Howard?” _

_ Howard glued his eyes to the floor. He looked so guilty. Why would he look guilty? Vince knew the answer, but he had to be sure.  _

_ “He came in.” Vince circled Howard.  _

_ “He’d picked me flowers. He was eating owl beaks. He offered me some. Said they’d get me in the mood.” _

_ Howard wouldn’t look up.  _

_ Vince stood right in front of Howard. Less than a foot away, where Howard couldn’t help but see his feet in his line of vision.  _

_ “He cornered me.” _

_ Howard tensed. His shoulders crawling toward his ears. Vince was torturing him and he deserved it. _

_ “Called me pretty.” _

_ Howard raised his hand to wipe away a tear but didn’t say anything.  _

_ “I told him to get off. But he wouldn’t.” Vince kicked Howard’s foot. “Look at me.”  _

_ Howard looked up. Vince hid his shaking hands in his pockets. It had been close. So close. He’d felt scared. Not the fun kind of scared like when they faced monsters, that always worked out. This had been real fear. _

_ “He grabbed me.” _

_ Howard didn’t breathe. _

_ “I burnt his face with my straighteners and he ran away. Then Naboo and Bollo came back. So. Howard. Would you care to explain to me why you left me to get bummed to death by Grizzly Adams?” _

_ They’d immediately gone to rescue Howard from the yetis. From getting bummed by the yetis. So Vince hadn’t had time to think through the implications of what Kodiak Jack had said. Howard had left. Had left him. Left him alone. _

_ Howard dropped his gaze back to the floor. Vince kicked his foot again. _

_ “Come on Howard. There must be a reason. I know you wouldn’t leave me with a psychotic without a good reason.”  _

_ A good reason. No. Howard did not have a good reason. He’d sold his best friend for a map. To follow some dream he’d had for about 14 hours. Decades of friendship for a map. _

_ “Answer me!” Vince yelled. “What did you do?” _

_ Howard shook his head. “Vince. I’m sorry.”  _

_ Vince’s mouth dropped open in painful shock at the admission of guilt. He was right. His eyes instantly filled with tears.  _

_ “Why did you do that? You said you’d protect me. You said you’d alw-” Vince swallowed the rest of the sentence. Covered his mouth with his hands to muffle the painful keening sound. _

_ A sound Howard hadn’t heard since they were little kids, and some bullies were burning some ants. He’d sworn he’d do anything in his power to never hear that sound again. And he’d caused it.  _

_ Howard stood up to hug Vince but Vince cringed away from him, shaking his head.  _

_ “I’m so sorry Vince. I’m so so sorry.”  _

_ Vince shook his head, his hand still clamped over his mouth. He hit the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the grubby motel carpet.  _

_ “I didn’t think it through. I didn’t think about what he’d do. I’m so sorry. He gave me-it doesn’t matter what he gave-I’m so sorry.” _

_ Vince covered his entire face with both hands. _

_ Howard gave himself a chinese burn. He’d never done that before but he found that the pain loosened the tightness in his chest a bit.  _

_ “It was so stupid. I’m sorry Vince. “ _

_ He still didn’t know what Howard had sold him for. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. As long as he didn’t know he could tell himself that it was for something important. Nuclear codes. A cure for a mysterious tropical disease that was destroying Small Heath. A signed Bowie LP. If Howard told him what it was, he’d know what he was worth in Howard’s eyes and he was starting to think it wasn’t much.  _

_ Howard had promised he’d protect him. Howard always protected him. He wasn’t very good at it, but that wasn’t the point. Howard tried to protect him. That was how Howard showed him that he loved him. Howard didn’t love him anymore. He’d stopped trying to protect him and that was the only answer. He’d given up on Howard loving him in any romantic way, but he’d always been so secure in the knowledge that Howard at least loved him as a friend, but apparently that wasn’t true either.  _

_ Vince knew he’d never be able to stop loving Howard. But he could stop needing him. Stop begging for his protection like a little puppy. He could take care of himself.  _

_ Vince stopped crying so fast it was almost scary. Howard actually stumbled back a step. _

_ Vince flashed him a smile that was trying far too hard. “It’s fine. Let’s not talk about it anymore, yeah?” _

_ Howard nodded. Grateful for the reprieve but wondering what mental gymnastics Vince had undertaken to stop being mad at him this time. Vince had a gift for completely skimming past anything Howard did to him. Every time Howard did something nasty Vince could only stay mad at him for about five minutes. His record was when he stopped speaking to Howard for an entire hour. Though he did not know it, he was going to become very accustomed to the silent treatment from Vince in the years to come.  _

_ Howard was at his best when he was protecting Vince. But as Vince grew colder and more distant those opportunities became less and less frequent and when they did arise Howard was so flustered and out of practice it sounded like he barely cared at all, and so Vince was again convinced that Howard didn’t care about him anymore and grew even more distant and round and round she goes.  _

_ The poison spread slowly. This was the point where it got into their system. _

Vince’s nose was a delicate pink. Tears dripped down his face.

“I completely betrayed you. And there was no way I could ever earn your forgiveness,” Howard said. He realized with dim surprise that he’d been giving himself a chinese burn the entire time he’d been telling the story. 

Vince took several deep breaths. 

“Tell me how you want to proceed little man. Do you want me to leave? I’ll leave. I’ll move out if you-”

“No!” Vince said. “I want you to stay. Just give me a minute to think.”

They sat in silence for a bit. 

The bedsprings creaked as Vince crawled toward Howard. He silently took Howard’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was closed mouth but heartfelt. Howard didn’t close his eyes. All he could see were Vince’s eyes, still rimmed in red, squeezed shut as he kissed Howard. 

Vince slowly pulled away.

“Vince.”

“You said once I knew everythin’, if I still wanted to be together, we could. I still want us to be together.”

Howard shook his head.

“It’s-Vince-did you not understand what happened? What I did to you?”

“Did you know what he was going to try to do?”

“It never occured to me that-I didn’t think it through. I thought he just wanted a date. It didn’t occur to me until later. What he might do and- I was so stupid, I-”

Vince kissed Howard again.

“Are you sorry?” 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I’m the sorriest-”

Vince cut Howard off again with a kiss.

“Will you ever do it again?”

Howard shook his head. 

“Then I forgive you.”

Howard grabbed Vince and kissed him. It was warm and sweet. Howard smelled like booze. Vince’s hands were coated in grime from the street and he smelled like he’d been spending a lot of time in Willie Nelson’s tour bus. But it was still warm and sweet. 

After they kissed they talked. Vince told Howard about how he finally felt like himself and Howard was going to have to accept that he was not exactly the same as he had been, that it was impossible. Howard apologized for freaking out about Vince’s hair and making him feel like he wasn’t real. Vince kissed the red skin from where Howard had given himself a chinese burn and asked him why he did it. Howard explained that it distracted him from painful thoughts. Vince said Howard needed to talk to him when he felt this way. 

“I don’t wan’ anyone hurting my Howard.”

My Howard. They both rather liked the sound of that. 

Xxx

Vince didn’t think he’d ever get tired of kissing Howard. Just when he thought he had it all nailed down then Howard would throw out some mental technique and send Vince into the stratosphere. He was off his tits on happiness. 

Naboo would grumble when he’d come home from a council meeting (ahem, weekly disciplinary hearing) to see Howard and Vince snogging on the couch like a couple a’ teenagers but they paid him no mind. To Vince the wait seemed interminable after just a month. Howard had been waiting nearly twenty years. Since the day in the park when the red feather had landed in Vince’s hair. 

Nothing was perfect. Perfection disturbs the human mind anyway, but it was damn close. Slowly but surely Vince pieced himself back together. He didn’t feel like an imposter anymore. He just felt like himself. But sometimes he wished he’d kept a journal or something, so he could get his own take on things. Howard’s perspective was all well and good, but tended to be dour and pessimistic. Vince would love to know what his own perspective was on some of their fights.

One day Vince smoked the hookah with Naboo and Bollo. Howard was at jazzercise. After 4 months he finally felt alright leaving Vince alone with Naboo and Bollo.

Naboo’s eyes went glossy as Vince entered his second hour of an extemporaneous sermon on Jaggerism. Vince never shut up when he was high. Suddenly Naboo snapped back to reality. 

“Jagger!” Naboo said.

“Yeah. Who ya think we been talkin’ about ya muppet?” 

“Imma give ya somethin’, but you can’t get angry.”

“What ya talkin’ about?”

“Well, there may a been a time, when I thought it’d be funny to make ya think you was contacting Mick Jagger telepathically.”

“What? Telepathically? What?”

“Well basically. You thought you was prayin’ to Jagger and that he was answerin’, but you was actually prayin’ to me with a voice changin’ spell.”

“You little-”

“You can’t get angry. You said. Anyway. I recorded the uh-sessions-for uh-don’t get mad, I thought it might be good for blackmail or summat. It was all well soppy and totally useless for blackmail, but I didn’t feel right gettin’ rid a them so-”

The anger cleared from Vince’s face. “You’ve got tapes, of my thoughts?”

“Only when you was prayin’ to Jagger. But yeah.” 

Naboo gave Vince a box of tapes and his magic tape player, as the tapes were a very obscure format. 

Vince crawled into his secret room and sat crosslegged on a massive soft cushion. He put on his headphones and hit play on the first tape. He listened to them all afternoon and well into the evening.

When Howard returned from jazzercise, Naboo told him not to bother Vince. 

All of the tapes started to blend together.

_ Alright Mick...Hey Mick...How’s the tour? Keith doin’ well? Howard said the most genius...was in a right mood til I listened to Honky Tonk Woman, thanks for that...messed up again with Howard...couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him...feel ugly today...got into another fight...I wonder if my mum ever thinks of me...thought he was going to kiss me...guy at the club got a bit rough...just got a new shade, it’s genius...Howard said...having nightmares again… _

He talked with “Mick” about his issues with Bryan and how he could never seem to stop seeking his approval. Just like Howard’s. He talked about how he thought he was probably asexual and how he was worried it would kill any small chance he and Howard had of getting together. How he wished he wouldn’t be so cruel to Howard. He talked about what his clothes meant to him and why he bought so many copies of Ziggy Stardust. He just couldn’t stand to see Ziggy sitting on the shelf all by himself, so anytime he came across a copy in a record stall he just had to have it. He regularly rotated his copies so they all got equal play time and no one felt left out. He talked a lot about the fights he had with Howard. And just as Vince suspected there was a lot that even a man as smart as Howard was bound to miss. He finally had his side of it. He cried about his parents and laughed about all the funny things Naboo and Bollo did. 

_ Guess that’s it. Thanks for listening. Amen.  _

Vince hit stop on the last tape. A piece of his heart he hadn’t even realized was missing slotted into place. He felt closer to complete. Not totally complete. He didn’t think anyone was totally complete. But closer. And that was all that mattered.

Epilogue:

Vince and Howard had been together just over a year when Naboo began fielding a lot of phone calls from pissed off customers.

“He remembers everything!” One woman shrieked so loudly that Naboo had to hold the phone away from his ear. 

“My mom remembers I exist now!” Fossil screamed in Naboo’s face after he came bursting into the shop. “That potion was about as useful as tits on a pointy headed cowboy killer.”

“A what?” 

“You know. The muscley beef boy.”

Naboo gave him a blank look.

“The daddy cow.”

“A bull?”

“Yeah. Your potion is about as useful as tits on a bull. It only lasted a year. She was supposed to forget me foreva.” Fossil yelled.

Naboo didn’t allow himself to smile. He gave Fossil his money back. He didn’t mention anything to Vince and Howard. He didn’t want to get their hopes up.

Xxx

Then one day. Without much fanfare. It happened.

Vince and Howard sat on the couch. Vince was sketching a portrait of Howard. He was trying to capture the essence of the expression Howard made when he was actually engaged in what he was reading instead of just pretending. Vince glanced down to add a line to Howard’s nose. His pencil scribbled across the page, ruining the picture. He didn’t move for a second, just staring at the dark line marring Howard’s pencil shaded face on the page.

He looked up. 

“Howard?”

“Yes Vince.”

“I remember.”

Howard slowly closed his book. His body hopelessly behind his brain. 

“You remember?”

Vince nodded, grinning broadly, tears standing in his eyes. “Yeah.”

Howard walked over and swept Vince into a hug. 

Vince squeezed Howard so tight he thought he might pop. It took Howard a moment to realize Vince was speaking, it was completely muffled because Vince’s face was buried in Howard’s shoulder. 

He listened and realized what Vince was saying.

“I remember everything. I love you so much. I love you so much. Thank you for loving me. I love you. I love you.”

Howard dipped Vince like a romantic heroine and gave him a deep passionate kiss. Vince kissed with such hunger. As if Howard was his first meal in forever. 

He laid kisses up and down Howard’s neck, punctuating each with a murmured “I love you” that tickled his neck and sent the sweet vibrations straight to his heart. 

Vince was different. And Vince was the same. He was Vince and always would be. He kept the short hair until the Allman brothers look came into style, then he asked Naboo for some lengthening potion and finally got what he asked for after several embarrassing misunderstandings about what exactly he wanted to lengthen. He went back to his uncomfortable, but oh so beautiful, shoes. He got into the shop at about 10. Splitting the difference. He never could seem to help letting Bryan back into their lives. Sometimes he rolled his eyes at Howard, but now it was always followed by a fond smile. He didn’t seem quite as concerned about his weight and he gave up lying about his age. They fought but always made up after. They actually told each other their feelings. And they kissed everyday. One thing was true no matter what version of Vince he was. He loved Howard. And Howard loved him. 


End file.
